


Icarus Falling

by crashbang, itslateout (crashbang)



Series: A Wingless Flight, a Departing Light [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Accidental Mating, Alpha Mark Lee (NCT), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - War, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Healing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Omega Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-07-06 08:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 107,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashbang/pseuds/crashbang, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashbang/pseuds/itslateout
Summary: Brazen, stubborn, and emotionally distant, Lee Donghyuck has one goal when he arrives at South Korea's most prestigious military base and that is to become a Flier. His plan crumbles when meets Mark Lee: the base's youngest Flier and "Hidden Ace." Mark is equally stubborn, equally distant, and a bigger pain in the ass than Donghyuck could have ever anticipated.(And that's before Mark becomes his mate.)





	1. Part One: i

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I hope you enjoy this fic!
> 
> It is loose mash-up of ABO & Pacific Rim and I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Comments are more than appreciated, so feel free to leave one--I promise I read them all.
> 
> Thank you.

_Cras amet qui nunquam amavit_

Donghyuck hurls his standard-issue, military-authorized loading bag onto the bottom bunk. His assigned dorm room has two bunk beds, which means there are only four Omegas Trainees in the entire base. None of the beds have blankets, and judging by the draft in the room, the central heating system isn’t connected to this room, either. Most likely, this room was once an old storage room that had been hastily converted into a bedroom after it became illegal to discriminate against Omegas. 

“Are these our dorms?”

Donghyuck turns around. Standing in front of the door is another Trainee. Taller and brawnier than most Omegas, Donghyuck would have mistaken the Trainee for a wandering Beta or Alpha if it wasn’t for his sweet, cloying scent. Before Donghyuck can stop himself, he replies, “They’re certainly not our training rooms. Mister…” 

“Jeno. Lee Jeno.” When Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, he asks tentatively, “And you are…?” 

“Lee Donghyuck. I’m from the Fifth Base, stationed in Incheon, but I don’t recognize you—are you one of the Seoulites?” 

Jeno nods. “I was born in Incheon, though.” 

Donghyuck grins, sly and sharp. “Really? I was born in Seoul.” 

Jeno laughs and his eyes turn into little crescents. It transforms his entire appearance—makes him look softer somehow. More like an Omega. “Maybe we were fated to meet, Donghyuck-ssi.” 

“I’m not a believer of fate, Jeno-ssi _._ ” Donghyuck jerks his head toward the top bunk. “But as long as you’re not a snorer I don’t mind being bedmates.” 

“I’m not a snorer,” Jeno assures him and heads toward the bunk bed. He’s carrying his own standard-issue backpack, along with a small bottle of pills—taldroexin, a popular heat suppressant and scent blocker. When Jeno notices Donghyuck’s gaze lingering on his bottle, he says, “Remember the Holovid Dr.Kim sent us last week? It said our heat suppressants would be in the Infirmary, so I grabbed mine as soon as I got to Ludus.”

Donghyuck’s brow furrows. _Huh._

“I’m guessing you haven’t gotten yours yet? You should probably do that soon. Dr. Kim said it’s imperative that all Omegas are put on heat suppressants before evaluations.”

“Dr. Kim sounds dramatic.” 

“Still,” Jeno protests, “we _are_ in a military base full of Alphas…”

_Yeah, I know._

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Jeno deflates. “Oh. Okay.”

Donghyuck would feel bad – and maybe he feels bad, anyway – but there are reasons why he wants to avoid going to the Infirmary with Jeno. Unlike Jeno, or any of the other Omegas in Ludus, Donghyuck doesn’t take taldroexin. Jeno can’t know that, though. It’s illegal for Omegas in the military to avoid taking heat-suppressants and while Jeno _looks_ nice, like he helps the old ladies carry their luggage on the subway, like he rescues cats from trees, Donghyuck doesn’t trust him with his secrets. Donghyuck doesn’t trust most people with his secrets. He shrugs, avoiding Jeno’s eyes, and grabs his ID before leaving the room, knowing that he has to make it look like he went to grab his base-sanctioned bottle of taldroexin. 

As soon as the door closes behind him, however, he heads in the opposite direction of the Infirmary, deciding that he might as well as use this excursion as an opportunity to explore more of the base. Hopefully, he can find an empty training room. Evaluations are tomorrow and a little practice might help polish his already perfected skills. 

Quickly, Donghyuck realizes that finding a training room is going to be a harder task than he thought. 

_They made Ludus as confusing as possible on purpose, didn’t they?_

Half of the base is modern: password protected doors, bulletproof windows, and bright fluorescent lighting. The other half—the more confusing half—looks like an old Joseon-style palace: curved wooden columns, lotus-tiled roofs, and bamboo-and-silk screens. Donghyuck keeps striding down metal-and-glass infused hallways, expecting to find a modern practice room at the other end, or even an armory, anywhere where there’s an automated bow-and-arrow—hell, he wouldn’t even mind a gun at this point—but he keeps ending up in tearooms and unfurnished meditation spaces. He has no idea why the army decided to keep these unnecessary places, but it leaves him impatient and frustrated. When he realizes the hallway he’s walking down is leading to another dead-end he bangs his head against the wall. 

“Fuck my life.” 

“Only if you insist, sweetheart.”

Lifting his head, Donghyuck spots an Alpha leaning against the wall. Donghyuck hadn’t notices him before, which, well, isn’t surprising considering the fact that the Alpha is unremarkable. The only noteworthy thing about him is that his black coat is embroidered with the symbol of Ludus Trainees: a gold, fanged tooth. He must be a Trainee, which means he must be one of Donghyuck’s fellow soldiers. Pity. Donghyuck had hoped that the Alpha Trainees accepted into Ludus would be mature, if only because Ludus is the most elite military base in South Korea and one would think maturity was a prerequisite to training here, but that was too much to ask for, wasn’t it? _Don’t expect a lion to spare a sheep, Hyuck-ah,_ his grandmother’s voice murmurs in the back of his head. Except Donghyuck isn’t a sheep. He’s Lee Donghyuck, the highest scorer from the Fifth Base, and he doesn’t mind kicking an Alpha’s ass, especially if that Alpha leers at him and makes gross, unwarranted, comments.

“I don’t insist,” Donghyuck replies pleasantly. “In fact, I _refute_.” He steps forward, squaring his shoulders. “But I suppose you don’t know what that means, so I’ll make it simple for you: Get the fuck away from me, asshole.”

Sometimes that’s all Donghyuck has to do. Sometimes that’s enough to intimidate an Alpha. After all, most Alphas don’t like when Omegas talk back, or—in Donghyuck’s case—charge back. 

But there are always exceptions.

This Alpha is one of them. Instead of drawing away from Donghyuck he moves closer. Smirking, he croons, “I thought you’d have a mouth on you, but don’t worry, I don’t mind. I like my Omegas feisty.” 

Donghyuck bares his teeth. “You should leave before you see what my mouth can do.”

“No, sweetheart.” Before Donghyuck can stop him, the Alpha grabs Donghyuck’s chin. “ _I'll_ show you what your mouth can do. And your lips—and your tongue—when they’re wrapped around my—”

Donghyuck spits in his face.

The Alpha recoils as the spit slides down his chin and shoves Donghyuck away from him. 

Donghyuck snickers, immensely satisfied with himself. “Did I show you?” Donghyuck crows. “Or would you like another demonstration? Trust me, I’m more than capable of going for a second round, _sweetheart_.”

Donghyuck’s taunting seems to unlock a feral part of the Alpha. He growls, eyes flashing red, before he lunges forward, his arm outstretched—

Donghyuck ducks and slides on the floor. 

The Alpha skidders, missing him by more than a foot.

Laughing again, Donghyuck stands up. “Really? That’s all you’ve got? How the hell did you pass prelims?” 

“Like this—”

Donghyuck sees the punch before it comes. He grabs the Alpha’s fist and uses the Alpha’s own momentum to drive him forward. 

The Alpha crashes into the wall.

Donghyuck lets go of the Alpha’s hand and, as the Alpha flops to the floor, Donghyuck squats in front of him, clucking his tongue. “Why are you picking fights you can’t win? You’re giving me second-hand embarrassment.” 

When the Alpha doesn’t say anything else—when he only groans into his chest—Donghyuck rises to his feet and dusts his hands. _Did I just break my own record?_ How long had this fight lasted, anyway? Thirty seconds? A minute? Honestly, Donghyuck is a little disappointed. The Trainees in Ludus are supposed to be the strongest in the country, but if the rest of the Alphas are like this… _How the hell are we going to seal the Rifts?_

Donghyuck grimaces. 

_God, I hope the others aren’t like this._ He still believes they won’t be, but he won’t know for sure until tomorrow, when the other Trainees will be evaluated by Ludus personnel. Donghyuck isn’t sure what they’ll be tested on—everything is a secret around here—but he figures that it will resemble Basic Training at Incheon. A timed run, an obstacle course, and maybe even some hand-to-hand combat. 

If Donghyuck wants to perform well tomorrow—if he wants to establish himself at the top of the class—he should head back to Bunk C4. The second best thing after some light training is get some shut-eye. (God knows he won’t have another good night’s rest until the year is over.)

_Where was my room again? Maybe I should try heading this way—_

Before Donghyuck can make a decision, something collides into his jaw. No, not something. Some _one_. As Donghyuck falls, he brings his hand to the floor to balance himself and yanks his head up in time to find the Alpha standing over him, nose bleeding and lips contorted into a scowl.

“You thought I couldn’t take you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, looking up. “But I’ll give you some credit–that was a nice punch. Where was this energy when I was kicking your ass, though?”

The Alpha brings his foot down into Donghyuck’s stomach. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid Omega bitch—”

Donghyuck’s stomach aches—that was a strong kick—but he can’t help but chuckle, even as the Alpha digs the heel of his combat boots into Donghyuck’s abdomen. God above, this is funny. _Stupid Omega bitch_. He hasn’t heard that line since his second year of middle school. It’s the kind of thing idiotic thirteen-year olds say to bully the shy kid in their class. _Shut up, you stupid Omega bitch! Shut up before I take your lunch money!_

The Alpha kicks Donghyuck again and again and again. “You think this is funny? Huh? You think this is _fucking funny_ —” 

It is kind of funny, yeah. 

But funny or not, the Alpha is whooping Donghyuck’s ass and Donghyuck doesn’t appreciate that. Especially not when the kicks are starting to move up toward his chest. He grabs the Alpha’s ankle, which is surprisingly easy to do, since the moron hasn’t put any distance between him and Donghyuck. As the Alpha brings his foot up to deliver another kick, Donghyuck squeezes his ankle and uses all of his strength to push the Alpha off of him. Like before, the Alpha’s momentum does most of the work for Donghyuck: It throws the Alpha off balance, and as he staggers backward, Donghyuck crawls away. 

Donghyuck makes it to the other end of the hallway before he forces himself to get back on his feet. It takes longer than he’d anticipated—while he had been laughing, the Alpha had pressed all of his weight onto Donghyuck’s lungs, and now, it’s hard to breathe. And even harder to move. _Fuck._

“I’m gonna kill you—”

Donghyuck curls his hand into a fist. “Try me.”

The Alpha roars; Donghyuck steadies himself. 

As the Alpha races toward Donghyuck, Donghyuck swings his first forward—

Donghyuck doesn’t hit the Alpha. Donghyuck doesn’t hit anything. Not for lack of trying, oh no, but because someone’s gripping his hands, holding him back. Donghyuck hisses, trying to break free, but this someone’s grip is _strong_ and precise. Precise enough that Donghyuck can’t find any rivets or cracks to fight his way through—none at all—and for the first time since the fight began, Donghyuck feels himself getting angry. “Let go. Let me _go_ —”

Donghyuck is released.

He stumbles, but a pair of hands wrap around his waist, steadying him, preventing him from crashing onto the ground in an ungraceful heap. Disconcerted, Donghyuck looks up and finds himself staring at a pair of pitch-black eyes, the color of the night sky in Jeju. The eyes belong to a face—a nice face, a treacherous part of Donghyuck thinks—and that face belongs to a man, a man who doesn’t look that much older than Donghyuck, who must be another Trainee, but who tilts his head in a certain way as he looks at Donghyuck that makes another treacherous part of Donghyuck want to bare his neck. He doesn’t, of course. Donghyuck doesn’t—Donghyuck won’t ever—submit to anyone. 

“Who are you?” Donghyuck asks. “And why are you trying to ruin my fun?”

The man frowns, bemused. “I was saving you.”

“I don’t need saving.” 

“That’s not what it looked like.” 

“You missed the part where I threw him into the wall. If you let me go I’ll give you a repeat demonstration—”

“I can’t do that.”

Donghyuck’s eyes flash. “And why the hell not?” 

Disapproval radiates off of the man, though now it’s mixed with a layer of indignation. “Because it’s against the rules and those rules exist for a reason, Trainee—”

“Lee,” Donghyuck supplies, not caring if the other man knows his name. “This is our first day here, we might as well as toe the line before the competition starts.” 

The man raises an eyebrow. “Who says it’s my first day?”

Scoffing, Donghyuck says, “Oh, come on, I know you’re a Trainee, too—”

The wryest of smiles. “Am I?”

Donghyuck stares at him. “What—”

Still holding Donghyuck, the man shuffles them closer to the light. “Look a little closer.” 

Donghyuck’s voice dies in the back of his throat.

_Oh, fuck._

“Do you still think this is my first day?” 

Donghyuck would bet money the man is smiling, and although that thought infuriates him, he can’t tear his eyes away from the man’s uniform. Underneath the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, the color of his uniform shifts from black to shades of blue, to shimmering teals and navies and cobalts, a mélange of hues that resembles the sea. There’s also several stitched badges on his coat: a fanged tooth, a chain, and finally, a bird flying in formation with seven other birds. “You’re a Flier,” Donghyuck breathes. He fights the urge to trace the outline of the birds with his fingers.

“And you,” the man whispers in Donghyuck’s ears, “are in so much trouble.”

Donghyuck represses a shiver. “But sir… Sir, I’m injured.” He tries his best to sound pitiful, like a vulnerable, scared Omega, even though those are all the things that Donghyuck is not. 

“Something you should have considered before you decided to fight,” the Flier replies firmly, but he releases his hold on Donghyuck’s waist. “There aren’t exceptions in Ludus, Trainee Lee—”

_I really shouldn’t have given him my name._

“—but for now… For now, you need to visit the Infirmary.”

Oh, the irony. Donghyuck almost starts laughing again.

“Is there something funny?”

“No,” Donghyuck replies, recovering, “just that my ribs might be broken, but you know, nothing major.”

The Flier nods and then turns around. “Arms around my neck.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen. “What?” 

“If your ribs are broken, you’re in no condition to walk. Arms around my neck.”

Donghyuck hesitates. “I don’t know—”

“Should I carry you instead?” the Flier asks, a hint of warning in his voice.

Maybe it’s his grandmother’s voice in his head, warning him not to complain about what is given to him, or maybe it’s the blood trickling down his chest and the way inhaling is started to become unbearable, but Donghyuck does at the Flier asks. (Maybe it’s because the Flier is asking.) He secures his arms around the Flier’s neck, and as the Flier bends down, he wraps his legs around the Flier’s waist. The Flier stands up, straightening and hoisting Donghyuck up with him. 

From his peripheral vision, Donghyuck watches as the Alpha—the Alpha he had been seconds from pummeling before the Flier arrived—gets to his feet, cradling his head in his hands. The Alpha’s jaw drops when he sees Donghyuck and the Flier in close proximity.

“Alright?” the Flier asks.

Donghyuck lowers his head into the crook of the Flier’s neck. “Just dandy—” 

Then, Donghyuck makes the mistake of taking a deep breath. It’s a mistake, because he inhales over the Flier’s scent glands, and smells something… strange. A very…peculiar kind of scent. 

The scent isn’t strong—the Flier is using blockers of some kind—but it’s potent and heady in a way that Beta scents aren’t. (In a way that makes Donghyuck’s mouth dry and his hands sweat.) And the scent isn’t an Omega’s—it’s too deep and too musky for that. No, what the _Alpha_ smells like is a forest at night, right after a rainfall, when the soil is damp and the leaves are wet and all of the wolves have taken cover. 

“Stop squirming,” the Alpha says. “You’re heavy enough as it is.” 

§§•§§

Donghyuck continues squirming. Dr. Kim is standing at the foot his cot, inspecting him with calm, intelligent eyes. He reminds Donghyuck of Dr. Moon, the head-doctor in the Fifth Base who had always seen through Donghyuck’s lies and half-truths. “Well,” Dr. Kim says, more amused than upset, “I guess now is the time for you to tell me what happened.” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth, ready to reply, but the Flier cuts in before he can say anything. “I found him in the middle of an altercation with another Trainee, hyung. He was in bad shape, so I brought him to the Infirmary. I think his ribs are broken.”

“Your actions were commendable, as they always are, but I think the Trainee can speak for himself.” 

The Flier flushes and looks away; and, for some reason, Donghyuck feels embarrassed, too. He has never needed someone to stick up for him before. Now Dr. Kim probably thinks Donghyuck is a weak, tongue-tied Omega, reliant on an Alpha to explain things about his own body, and the thought is so infuriating that Donghyuck wants to yell. And Dongyuck would yell, most definitely, if it wasn’t becoming impossible to breathe. He trains his eyes on Dr. Kim and prays to any listening deity for his voice to remain steady. “I… I’m having trouble breathing. My back hurts, too.”

Dr. Kim’s eyes narrow, but when Donghyuck doesn’t elaborate, he nods, accepting Donghyuck’s curt answer. “I’ll do a full-body scan. Maybe an fMRI if there’s too much noise. Whatever’s wrong, I’ll find it. Regardless of what I find, though, I’m afraid you’ll need a few shots of Sterocil.” 

Donghyuck chews on his bottom lip. _Sterocil?_

Noting his hesitance, Dr. Kim explains, “It’s a stem-cell serum. It speeds up cell growth and recovery, particularly of your lupine cells, which will be essential if you want to start training right away.”

Donghyuck relaxes. 

“One last thing. Your lips are turning blue, which means you’re not breathing properly. I’m going to intubate you and look around your pulmonary system. To do that, I’ll need to administer a general anesthetic, propofol, which should help you fall asleep.” 

Donghyuck nods. _Okay_.

“Good,” Dr. Kim says, voice gentle and placating. “I’ll go get it now. Sleep dreams, Trainee.” 

§§•§§

After Dr. Kim injects him with a dose of propofol, but before Donghyuck falls under the spell of approaching darkness, he catches Dr. Kim speaking to the Flier, his voice hushed and faraway: an echo of an echo. 

“...You said he was in a fight. What about the other Trainee?”

The Flier replies, but Donghyuck can’t hear what he’s saying. 

“For Goodness sake, Mark, I can’t believe…” 

“I know, I…”

His eyelids are heavy. Donghyuck closes them.

“...Thank you, anyway… Know you’ve been quite busy since…”

“...Don’t worry, hyung… I’m alright.”

“My door is always open, Mark Lee, okay?”

Before the Flier can answer, Donghyuck drifts into a dreamless slumber, into the space between breaths, into the hollow in-between of life and death. 

It is quiet here. 

§§•§§

When Donghyuck wakes up, his entire body is sore. He groans and cracks open his eyes; thankfully, the fluorescent lights in the Infirmary have been dimmed. Donghyuck glances down at his cot and finds that a quilt has been pulled snug around him. _Thanks Dr. Kim,_ he thinks fondly. Tucking in patients is something Dr. Moon used to do, too. “What time is it?” Donghyuck says out loud, expecting Dr. Kim to bustle by his side at any moment.

“Almost ten.” 

The voice, while familiar, is not Dr. Kim’s. Donghyuck stiffens. “You’re still here? Sir?”

The Flier clears his throat. “I left and came back.”

“Why?” Donghyuck plays with the quilt. “You’ve performed all of your Samaritan duties already.”

“I—”

Donghyuck waits.

“I still need a statement. From you. About the incident.”

Donghyuck exhales loudly. “Of course you do.”

“Trainee Lee—”

For the first time since he woke up, Donghyuck makes eye contact with the Flier. The Flier looks uncomfortable—more uncomfortable than before—although his gaze remains fixed on Donghyuck. Still, his hair is rumpled, his uniform is more wrinkled than Donghyuck remembers it being, and he is far away from the strong, precise, pristine man he had been hours ago. Because of that, Donghyuck opens his mouth and murmurs, his words falling out of his mouth like rain falling on the ground, seeping into the air the way water sinks into soil, “I thought you’d have a mouth on you, but don’t worry, I don’t mind.” 

The Flier tilts his head. “I don’t—”

Taking a deep breath, Donghyuck continues. “I like my Omegas feisty.” 

The Flier’s mouth falls shut.

Smiling pleasantly, Donghyuck says, “Should I continue? He got in a few more comments before I pushed him into the wall—nothing too bad, you know—just something like, _your lips wrapped around my cock_ —"

“Enough,” the Flier says quietly.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.” 

The Flier stands up, averting eye contact for the first time since they arrived at the Infirmary. “Dr. Kim left me with specific instructions,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, fluttering and awkward and utterly un-Alphalike. “I’m to take you back to your dorm, in case there’s another...” His mouth twists. “Well.”

“It’s alright,” Donghyuck says soothingly. “You can say moron, I understand.” 

For a second, the Flier looks taken aback. Then he shakes his head. “Are you always like this?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Only on days ending in a ‘Y’.” 

To Donghyuck’s surprise, the Flier smiles—albeit briefly—before jerking his head toward the entrance. “In that case, we should hurry. Before more _morons_ arrive from dinner.”

After the nurse —Donghyuck learns her name is Yuqi—pulls the IV drip out of Donghyuck’s wrist, he and the Flier walk together toward Bunk C4, the Flier leading the way, gifted with an innate sense of spatial direction that Donghyuck envies. 

“I think the other Trainees are inside,” the Flier says when they’re both standing in front of the door. He isn’t quite looking away from Donghyuck, but he isn’t quite looking at him, either. “They should be able to help you change your dressings.”

“Right.” 

“Right,” the Flier repeats, fluttering and awkward again.

 _So much for being an Alpha_ , Donghyuck thinks, wry _._ “Well. I guess...I’ll head in now. Sir.” 

“Um. Before you go…” The Flier clears his throat. “Hyung told me to give this to you.” 

“What?” 

Flushing, and looking more flustered than ever, the Flier hands Donghyuck a bottle of taldroexin. Donghyuck accepts the bottle and, upon turning it around, finds that Dr. Kim had written Donghyuck’s name and birthdate on the plain white canister. _So he did know who I was,_ Donghyuck thinks, narrowing his eyes. _But he doesn’t know about… Well. That’s one less thing to worry about._ “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” 

The Flier shoves his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t seem like he knows what to say, and Donghyuck doesn’t know why he’s still here, instead of going back to his own room—undoubtedly a much nicer room than Bunk C4—but he waits. He waits for the Alpha to find the right words. (Or maybe they won’t be the right words. Maybe they’ll be all wrong, the wrong cards in the wrong card game, whatever game this is, but so be it. Donghyuck waits, anyway.) Finally, the Flier murmurs, “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“Know what?” 

“That you were—you know.”

“An Omega?”

The Flier nods. Then, as if he’s worried Donghyuck will get the wrong idea, he adds sharply, “It doesn’t change anything. You broke the rules. I can’t… overlook that, but…I just wanted you to know that… that _I_ didn’t know. I didn’t suspect that you reacted the way you did, because of—”

 _He wants me to believe that he didn’t know? How stupid does he think I am?_ Sure, Donghyuck doesn’t smell sweet anymore, not like Jeno, but not once has anyone ever mistaken him for anything other than an Omega. He’s too lithe and too pretty for anyone to mistake him for anything else. _He’s lying. He has to be lying. He felt bad that he didn’t intervene earlier and now he’s lying to save face._

“Trainee Lee? Are you alright?” 

_Why the hell do you care?_ “I’m tired,” Donghyuck says and as soon as he utters the words, he realizes they’re true. “I want to go to bed now. Sir.” 

The Flier visibly struggles, but says, “You… should do that.”

“Can you—”

“Can I?”

“It’s just…” _Is he really this naive?_ “You’re an Alpha, and my roommates, they’re all Omegas—they might not feel comfortable if you’re just… you know, standing here. In front of the door.” _Like a fucking creep._

“Oh— _oh_.” 

The Flier’s eyes widen comically and he turns around and starts walking away without another word. His strides are powerful and controlled, but also a little…awkward. Maybe he’s smoother in the air. 

As Donghyuck stares at his retreating back, he wonders what the Flier looks like when he’s in the sky. Glorious, maybe… Most Fliers are. 

Then again, he doesn’t seem like he’s like most Fliers.

§§•§§

Donghyuck steps inside of the room, expecting to see four plain bunk beds, Jeno, and the other two Omega Trainees. He does spot all of those things—those people—but he also finds himself gaping at the large flower pots on the side-tables, bursting with lilies and lilacs; at the fairy-lights trailing down the walls; at the multicolored rugs strewn on the cinderblock ground; and at the intricately painted watercolors decorating the ash-gray walls. “Who did all of this?” Donghyuck asks, and if he were a cartoon character, his eyes would be bugging out of their sockets.

“All of us!” Jeno sounds excited, waving at Donghyuck from the top bunk. “Do you like it, Donghyuck-ssi?"

“Of course I like it,” Donghyuck replies, a little indignant that Jeno could even think he wouldn’t. “But who’s ‘all of us’ exactly?”

“Me,” says a new voice, a soft, very sultry, _feminine_ voice.

The voice belongs to one of the new Trainees. Donghyuck masks his surprise when he sees her but she must be observant, because her lips curl into a knowing smile, anyway. “There’s not enough Omegas here to justify separating us by our primary genders,” she explains from her spot on one of the rugs. “Not like Ludus has a multimillion dollar budget or anything…”

“Well, we’re living in the lapels of luxury right now. Another room like this one and they’d be broke.” 

“Oh, absolutely. That must be why they can’t afford a heater, either.” 

Donghyuck laughs and decides that he likes her. “I’m Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck.”

“Heejin. Heon Heejin.” Heejin flicks her thumb toward the other bunk bed and Donghyuck sees the other Trainee—also a girl—slumbering on the bottom bunk. “That’s Kim Hyunjin. We both came from the Third Base in Seoul… And no, before you ask, I didn’t meet Jeno-ssi until I got here.”

“I heard of you, though,” Jeno interjects. “You always placed in the top five for everything.”

Heejin beams and flicks her hair. “What can I say? I tried really hard.” 

Donghyuck hobbles toward his bed, ignoring the way Heejin’s eyes track his movements, undoubtedly noticing his slight limp. He sits down on the lumpy mattress and decides that now is a good time to gauge his competition. “Top five? That’s impressive, Heejin-ssi. What position are you aiming for here?”

Heejin raises a single finger. “Numero uno, of course.” 

Jeno gasps, surprised at her daring, but Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “So you came here to be a Flier?” 

Heejin raises her chin. “And you, Donghyuck-ssi? Don’t tell me you came here to learn how to fly cargo.” 

Donghyuck shrugs. “Maybe I did.”

“No,” Heejin decides after a moment’s pause, “I don’t think you did. I think you’re the same as me. I think you like being the best, and I think you’re planning on being the best here, too, but I don’t think you trust us enough to say that. Is that it?” 

Humming, Donghyuck lies back on the mattress. Heejin reminds him of his grandmother—all-knowing and all-seeing, like a cat with nine lives and nine eyes, a cat that prowls through alleys and hides behinds corners, finding what hides in the shadows. Strangely enough, Donghyuck doesn’t mind. “You’re clever,” he says instead of affirming her observations. “I think we should team-up.”

“Just you two?” 

The other girl trainee—Hyunjin—yawns and slips out of bed. She’s as short as Heejin, but she has a different air about her: cold and elegant, like a painted piece of porcelain hanging on an ornate wall inside of a teahouse. Then she flops on the floor beside Heejin, her mouth twisting into a pleased but slightly spaced out smile, and Donghyuck realizes that she’s not as cultivated or embellished as she looks. 

“Of course not,” Heejin says, patting her head affectionately. “I’d never do anything without you, Hyunjin-ah.” 

“Good,” Hyunjin says, “because I want in on this alliance.”

“Alliance?” Donghyuck says at the same time Heejin says, “Great idea, Hyujin-ah! We should definitely have an alliance.” 

Donghyuck groans and closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Jeno says from above Donghyuck, “if you guys are all in it…Could I join, too?”

§§•§§

Donghyuck showers after everyone else, so that by the time he arrives back to their dorm room, all of the other Trainees are ready to go to breakfast. “Hang on,” Donghyuck says, drying his hair and sliding into his combat boots at the same time, “or—you know what, go on without me. “It’s fine, I’ll find the way on my own—”

“Don’t tempt fate, Donghyuck-ssi,” Hyunjin warns him, her hair tied back into a neat bun. “I said the same thing in the Third Base and accidentally ended up stuck in the janitorial closet. Heejin-ah had to break the door handle to get me out.”

“It’s true,” Heejin confirms, “but besides, we’re in an alliance, remember? We should wait for each other.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “I remember.”

Jeno grabs his own towel and starts helping Donghyuck dry his hair. Which, well, fine. If he wants to be useful, Donghyuck isn’t going to stop him. “Why don’t you guys run to the Mess Hall and save us two spots?” Jeno suggests. “If we’re all late, the other Trainees will begin their anti-Omega tirades, and it’s only our first day…”

“Let them,” Donghyuck grumbles, knowing all too well how true Jeno’s words are. “If they want to fight, I’ll fight.” 

Jeno squeezes his shoulders as if to say, _Please, Donghyuck-ssi, calm down._

Donghyuck pinches Jeno’s waist. _I am calm._

“Jeno-ssi is right,” Heejin sighs. “We need to set a good example to show the administration that Omegas belong here. Like it or not, it’s our responsibility to keep the door open for the next wave of Omega Trainees.”

Petulantly, Donghyuck thinks, _It’s an ugly-ass door, though._ Outwardly, he accepts defeat, nodding goodbye to Heejin and Hyunjin as they leave the dormitory. As soon as they’re gone, Jeno stops toweling Donghyuck and walks in front of him, acting as a human barrier. “What are you doing?” Donghyuck asks, irritated.

“I didn’t see you take your heat suppressants, Donghyuck-ssi.”

Donghyuck freezes. 

“You also didn’t shower with me. I understand not wanting to shower in front of Hyunjin-ssi and Heejin-ssi, but why not me?”

“I’m a private person,” Donghyuck says, recovering. “I don’t like showering with other people and I _especially_ don’t like it when people ask me pointless questions about my life.”

Donghyuck expects Jeno to look hurt, to step away as if he’s been burned. He expects to feel bad about it, too, because hurting an Omega as sweet and soft-spoken as Jeno is like kicking a newborn puppy in the face. He blinks, surprised, when Jeno curls his hand around Donghyuck’s shoulder and says, “It’s just that I’m concerned about you. We’ll be living together for an entire year—hopefully longer if we both pass onto the next stage of training—and I’d like us to be friends, Donghyuck-ssi. I think we’d be good friends, don’t you?”

Before Donghyuck presented as an Omega he used to have a bustling social life. Teachers adored him, his friends loved playing with him, and his grandmother coddled him. Everything was good until, one day, it wasn’t. It was almost as if the universe woke up and decided to fuck with Donghyuck, decided to treat his life like a car crash happening in slow motion. Things fell out of place and fires started where they shouldn’t and slowly, slowly, Donghyuck realized that he was bleeding on shards of broken glass. He has no idea if he’s still in the car, and until he knows, he can’t accept Jeno’s offer for companionship, no matter how tempting it is. (And it is so very tempting.) 

“We have an alliance already, don’t we?” Donghyuck responds, pitching his voice so that it’s more casual than usual. “That should be enough.”

Jeno lets go of him. _Now_ he looks hurt. “Donghyuck-ssi—”

“Let’s go, Jeno-ssi. We’ll be late for breakfast.”

Jeno doesn’t move. 

“Jeno—”

“What about the heat suppressants?” Jeno asks. “You still haven’t told me why you didn’t take them this morning.”

“I did take one. I took it while you were asleep.”

“Prove it.”

“You want me to regurgitate it for you?” 

“Show me the bottle.”

Donghyuck laughs harshly. “Are you gonna count each pill? Please. You don’t even know how many there are in each bottle.” 

Jeno bows his head, looking defeated. “I’m just…I’m worried about you.”

Despite himself, Donghyuck feels a slight burning in his throat, the precursor to him losing his shit and doing something stupid, like crying. _Pull yourself together, Lee Donghyuck._ “Listen,” Donghyuck finds himself saying, clasping Jeno’s hand in his own, “if you’re really that worried about me, just give me your glass of orange juice during breakfast. I’m Vitamin C deficient.”

“Is this funny to you, Donghyuck-ssi?”

“A little bit.” 

Jeno sighs, prolonged and heavy. “Fine. Fine, okay, I’ll share my breakfast with you, as long as you promise to give me something in return.”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Jeno bends his knees so that he is eye-to-eye with Donghyuck. If anyone else pulled this trick on Donghyuck, he would punch them, but Jeno doesn’t do it to boast or to prove a point—he does it because he wants to make Donghyuck feel secure, and because he is, at his core, a very nice person who does nice things for people without being asked. Donghyuck has known him for a day but he already knows that. “If something’s wrong—if something goes wrong, if you ever need help—I want you to promise you’ll come to me. And I’m not just saying this for your sake. I’m saying this because I feel alone right now and I want a friend, too, okay?”

Donghyuck takes a deep breath. _He’s really adamant about this friendship thing, huh?_ “You’re not good at giving up, are you?” 

Jeno squeezes his hand. “Wouldn’t have gotten here if I wasn’t.”

“Fair point.” Donghyuck hesitates, thinks about answering Jeno’s tacit question, but he can’t find it in himself to say no again. (Even though he should. He knows he should.) “Come on, we’re going to be seriously late if we don’t leave now. You can be stubborn at breakfast.”

§§•§§

The cafeteria used to be the palace’s throne-room. Now, the lotus-tiled patterns on the walls and the engraved flowers on the wooden columns are the only relics of the past that have remained. Everything else is shiny and brand new: sleek, black tables, a polished granite floor, and gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows. Donghyuck finds Heejin and Hyunjin sitting by themselves in the allocated Trainee section and tugs Jeno toward them. “We got you guys breakfast,” Heejin says, pointing at the two trays in front of her. “Rumor has it this is the only day we’ll be allowed to eat before training, so enjoy it while you can.” 

Donghyuck thanks her and picks up his chopsticks. He almost drools as he starts digging into his portion of steaming white rice. Heejin also got him ox-tail soup, kimchi, slices of thin beef marinated in curry, and a bunch of side-dishes including seasoned cucumbers and black beans drowned in soy sauce. 

“There’s fruit, too, but I couldn’t fit it into your trays,” Heejin says. “Oh, and remember to drink several glasses of water—our basic training starts today and it’s going to be a hell of a ride if we’re not all hydrated.” 

“Oh my God,” Donghyuck says, swallowing his rice. “You’re the best mom I’ve ever had.”

Hyunjin beams. “Isn’t she such a good leader? I vote her to be president of our alliance.”

“I second that vote,” Jeno says, sounding as grateful as Donghyuck feels. “Thank you so much, Heejin-ssi.”

Heejin basks in the attention, looking pleased with herself. _She’s_ definitely _a cat,_ Donghyuck thinks, smiling to himself. “You’re welcome, guys! But let’s drop the formalities, alright? We’re all the same age, so just Heejin is fine.” 

Jeno’s eyes crinkle into crescents. “Well, thank you, Just Heejin.” 

Donghyuck chokes on his rice. Jeno claps him on the back good-naturedly, but before Donghyuck can start making fun of him for that _super lame dad joke, oh my god_ , Heejin’s face pales and her mouth falls open. 

“Oh god,” Heejin whispers, sounding both reverent and terrified. “The Fliers are here.”

Donghyuck gulps down some water and twists in his chair so that he’s facing the front of the cafeteria. Through the main doors, a group of Fliers walks in—no more than a dozen of them, tops—each carrying a tray of food, except they have actual plates and silverware instead of paper plates and plastic chopsticks. 

“The Fliers are split into quads,” Heejin explains. She points at a Flier walking near the front of the pack. “That’s the head of the EXO team, Captain Kim Minseok—you guys have probably heard of him—he’s a living, breathing, walking icon —”

Donghyuck’s heart beats a little faster. He _has_ heard of Kim Minseok. Everyone in South Korea—hell in East Asia; hell, in the world—has heard of Kim Minseok and his gutsy feats in the Battle of Hong Kong six years ago. Minseok had taken down three _Acra_ , three demons, from the Rift in the South China Sea using a series of precisely triggered, microscopic nuclear explosions centered on the demons’ hearts. Without him, Hong Kong would have fallen and millions of people would have died. 

He’s a hero. 

And he’s eating in the same cafeteria as Donghyuck.

“The man beside him is—”

Hyunjin digs her elbow into Heejin’s side. “Forget men. Heejin-ah, look at her—”

Heejin drops her chopsticks and lets out the softest “ _oh”_ Donghyuck has ever heard. 

Donghyuck follows her gaze and recognizes the Flier. Kim Taeyeon. She’s the oldest female Flier in Ludus and the most, to borrow Heejin’s words, iconic. In her ten-year career she has had over one hundred certified kills, but Donghyuck guesses that her actual number of kills is much, much higher. 

“She’s brilliant,” Heejin sighs. “She can do anything. I want to be her.”

Hyunjin steals a piece of Heejin’s meat. “You also want to be _with_ her.”

Heejin does not dispute this point.

Jeno pokes Donghyuck, drawing his attention. “Hey,” he says, eye-smile on full blast, “do you have anyone you like?”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to mention a familiar name like Lee Jinki, leader of the SHINEE squadron, but then—almost as if the sea is parting—another Flier makes his way to the front of the group. Kim Minseok throws an arm around the Flier and ruffles his hair. When Donghyuck realizes who it is, he almost chokes on his food again.

“Do you know his name?” Donghyuck asks Heejin breathlessly, pointing in the direction of the Flier.

Heejin’s brow creases, but then she smiles triumphantly. “I do! That’s Mark Lee.” 

_Mark Lee._

Donghyuck mouths the name. It doesn’t… It doesn’t sound _terrible_.

“I haven’t heard of him before,” Jeno says, “but he doesn’t look very old.”

“That’s because he’s not.” Heejin forgoes eating and shoves her half-full tray toward Hyunjin, who begins to devour her ox-tail soup. “He’s one year older than us, but he’s supposed to be an ace.” Her voice lowers. “Some rumors about him spread around the Third Base last year. Apparently Ludus didn’t even make him compete against the other Trainees—they just promoted him to a Flier.”

 _It’s just a rumor,_ Donghyuck thinks. It’s just a rumor so he shouldn’t take it seriously but his body isn’t listening to his mind. He feels that familiar heavy weight settling inside of his chest—and he knows that’s envy—but there’s another feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he’s being squeezed between two stones. It surprises him. More importantly, he’s surprised that he’s surprised, because that means a part of him cares about the Flier’s history—but no, that’s ridiculous. He’s not invested. He doesn’t care. 

“He doesn’t even look that special,” Donghyuck mutters more to himself than to anyone at the table.

As if he can hear Donghyuck—even though he can’t, even though he shouldn’t be able to, not when Donghyuck had spoken so softly, not when half the Cafeteria is in an uproar over the sudden appearance of the Fliers—Mark Lee looks over his shoulder. He catches sight of their table. He catches sight of Donghyuck. He slows down. 

_Oh no._

For a second, Donghyuck is afraid he’ll do something stupid, like go over to him and say hi, but Mark just stares. Stares and stares and _stares_ . Until Donghyuck is squirming in his seat, wanting to hide under the table, even though he hasn’t done that since elementary school, because Mark Lee’s gaze is stupidly intense, stupidly scrutinizing, as if Donghyuck is a complicated equation that he needs to figure out, and if he keeps up this staring, someone else is going to notice. And Donghyuck doesn’t need that. He already has a target on his back, a big fat bulls-eye, the kind that comes with being one of the only Omegas in Ludus, and that’s hard enough to deal with on its own. _Focus on someone else,_ Donghyuck thinks desperately, shoulders shrinking in a futile effort to sink into the table. _Focus on some stupid, brawny Alpha who’ll preen at the attention, not me._

“Why is he looking at us—”

“You’re pretty,” Donghyuck tells Jeno, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m sure you’re his type, that’s probably why.”

“He was looking at you, though.”

“I’m sitting next to you,” Donghyuck points out. 

“Then why are you sweating?” 

Sweating? He’s sweating? Donghyuck touches the back of his neck and groans when he realizes Jeno’s right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” insists Donghyuck, anyway, and shovels a piece of bulgogi in his mouth before Jeno can ask him another embarrassing question.

“He left,” Heejin comments. “He’s sitting with Kim Minseok now. They’re at the high table.” She squints. “Oh, hold on. They’re all standing up now—I think someone’s going to make a speech.”

“Who?” Hyunjin asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize him.”

 _Probably just an administrator._ Donghyuck dips his bulgogi into soy sauce and works on returning his heartbeat into its normal rhythm. _Thump-thump-thump_. _Thump-thump-thump._

“I heard someone say he’s from the Fifth Base,” Jeno says. “Donghyuck-ssi, do you know him by any chance?”

“Nope,” Donghyuck says although doesn’t bother looking. 

_Thump-thump-thump._

“Wait, someone else is going up, too—”

“Good morning,” a woman’s voice announces. “My name is Cha Nayoung and I am the Director of Operational Services in Ludus. First, I would like to congratulate all of the Trainees in this room right now. Collectively, you all had the highest tactical scores in the country. You are the brightest, the bravest, and the best that South Korea has to offer to Project Thunderstrike.” 

Food is Donghyuck’s priority, but he tries to listen to what she’s saying, too. Director Cha explains that Project Thunderstrike was initiated by the UN over twelve years ago when the first Rift, or opening, appeared in the Atlantic Ocean. After monsters emerged from the opening and attacked New York City, and then Toronto, the rest of the world cooperated to fight the monsters, called the _Acra_ in Korea. Thunderstrike’s most pressing goal is to combat any _Acra_ attacks by training soldiers to use Navi technology—technology that allows them to fly in the highest depths of the atmosphere and swim in the darkest corners of the ocean—in order to destroy the demons. 

Donghyuck has to stifle a yawn. It’s not a bad speech, but it’s nothing he doesn’t already know.

“We know the _Acra_ come from the Rifts in the skies and in the oceans,” she says and at this point, Donghyuck is barely listening, “and while we don’t know why these Rifts appeared—or where the Acra are from originally—what I can say with complete certainty is that, without Project Thunderstrike, without Ludus, and without the soldiers sitting in front of me right now, millions of people would have died. Our societies, our ways of life, would have crumbled.” 

She pauses for a round of applause. 

“Trainees, I am proud to say that our dedication to serving our country continues with our latest appointee. This Alpha belongs to a valorous and courageous family who he has honored by serving in the military for over ten years. Not only that, Trainees, but he spent an entire year volunteering as a basic military instructor in Incheon—”

Donghyuck’s heart skips a beat. 

_(Thump-thump-THUMP—)_

“—devoting himself to teaching his students—”

_No, there’s no way—_

“Donghyuck-ssi?” Jeno murmurs, concerned, but his voice is faraway. 

“—and as a result of his efforts, for the first time in the history of Ludus, we have more Trainees from Incheon than from any other province in the country! This Alpha’s teaching style is legendary. In fact, we believe it is legend-making.” 

_(THUMP-THUMP-THUMP—)_

“Donghyuck,” Jeno says more urgently. “Donghyuck, are you okay?”

_I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m—_

“Trainees, I am proud to present to you the newly-appointed Director of First-Year Training, the man who we believe will propel you to further excellence…” 

_(THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP_ —)

Jeno tugs at his shoulder, but Donghyuck can’t feel anything. “Do you need to go to the bathroom? Do you want me to take you?”

“…Director Park Junghwa.”

Donghyuck’s shoulder burns. A faint burning. A phantom pain. 

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know what Park Jungwha looks like.

It’s embedded in his memory: a photograph he can’t get rid of. A memory that won’t disappear. Tall. Cropped black hair. He wears gloves on both hands and only drinks imported scotch. His breath always smells like scotch, too, and his gloves are always warm. Too warm. 

“Hey,” Jeno whispers in his ear, still grasping Donghyuck’s shoulder, “hey, I’m here. We’re here.”

Other voices chiming in the mix. Heejin and Hyunjin, probably.

For a second, the voices of his roommates break through—like a singular lucid note shining through an uncoordinated symphony—but then Park Junghwa speaks and his voice is exactly like Donghyuck remembered it. 

And the note is lost. And Donghyuck is lost.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Director Cha. And thank you for the applause, Trainees.” Park Junghwa pauses. “Before I would like to begin, there are people close to my heart here who I would like to greet. And those are my Trainees from Incheon.” A longer pause. “Hello, friends. Didn’t I say we would meet again?”


	2. i.ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote 90% of this in one night & it's still not completely edited so...apologies in advance y'all
> 
> i hope you like it, though! 
> 
> (it's set in Mark Lee's POV, btw)

“Jesus, Mark. Again?”

“It’s nothing, hyung.”

“You can’t even pick up your chopsticks!” 

Mark turns red but juts out his chin. Under the watchful eyes of Captain Kim and Byun Baekhyun, he grips his chopsticks in his bandaged hands and scoops up bits of chopped fruit from his salad bowl. He isn’t hungry, but all of the members of his squadron are stringent about calorie count. If he loses more than two kilograms, he’s not allowed on any missions, not even simple rescue ones in the middle of the Pacific. 

He looks his hyungs in the eye as he chews the pear-and-strawberry mix.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Okay, hotshot, I get it. You’re real fuckin’ macho, a real Alpha, is that it?”

“Language,” says Captain Kim.

“Come on, Minnie, you can’t seriously be impressed by his behavior—”

“I’m not, which is why Minhyung is suspended from this afternoon's test run.”

Mark drops his chopsticks. “Hyung,” he protests, “I’ve been waiting for a month—”

“Then you can wait longer.” Captain Kim sips his tea and looks very unconcerned about Mark’s rising despair. His face is passive, as smooth and unbroken as marble. “If you’re not ready, there’s no point in trying to man your Navi. It’ll be a waste of resources and time.”

“I'm peak physical condition, hyung. Why do you think I practice so hard instead of sleeping? I can do this. I _am_ ready.”

Captain Kim tilts his head. His gaze is steady and searching, almost unending, as if he can see through Mark, through his skin and his sinew, straight into the white-hot core of him. What does he see? What is there inside of Mark that needs to be guarded, ensconced by the Captain’s personal protection, time and time again? “You train hard,” Captain Kim says, “and you train well, Minhyung. You always have. But if you can’t sleep at night, if you have to fight a robotic dummy in one of the practice rooms before you go to bed, then you _aren’t_ ready. Not yet.”

Mark's eyes sting and he bows his head. "Yes, hyung." 

“There is something else I want you to do, though.”

Mark looks up. 

“The new Trainer—Park Junghwa—asked one of the Fliers to conduct a demonstration in the simulation room. He doesn’t have access to the room yet.” 

“I haven’t stepped foot there since I was sixteen, hyung.” 

“I wasn’t _asking_ , Minhyung.”

Mark bites his tongue and swallows his words. He doesn’t say what he wants to say, which is, _no, hyung, I really don’t want to do that_. He nods. Captain Kim is, well, his Captain. If he hadn’t seen something in Mark, something worth taking a risk for, Mark would still be stuck in that house in _Hannam-dong_ , alone and miserable. (And maybe he is alone right now, anyway, and miserable, too, but at least he found his calling. His purpose.) That’s worth a lifetime of loyalty, in his opinion. “If you want me to, hyung, I’ll… I’ll do it.” 

Captain Kim ruffles his hair. He cringes and tries to avoid the touch and the Captain chuckles. “Do well, Minhyung. This will be their first time seeing a Flier.”

“Yeah,” Mark says, stomach churning, “I’ll do my best.” 

§§•§§

The simulation room is smaller than he remembers. 

He trails his fingers across the wall as he approaches the contraption in the center of the room: a pair of chairs inside a glass bubble entrenched in cobalt-blue wiring. The wiring is connected to several monitors in another room. From there, some of the Base’s scientists and medics use the electrical impulses traveling through the wires to measure neuropsychological activity of someone inside of a simulation. He has no idea how they do it, but they can measure potential Drift Compatibility to a one-thousandth percent accuracy. 

“Subjects TFY1 through TFY100 requesting entry. Subject TFY1 through TFY100 requesting entry.”

Mark sighs and squares his shoulders. “Entry granted.”

There’s a whirring sound, followed by a soft click, and the door to the simulation room slides open. 

Like a colony of ants, the First-Year Trainees swarm the room, bright-eyed and loud. All one-hundred of them. He’s faced larger audiences before but not in such tight, cramped quarters. He tugs at the collar of his jacket before backing away to make more room for the Trainees. 

_Hyung owes me one._

"Close the door, Mina,” he murmurs.

The AI listens and the door slams shut, trapping him with a pack of ravenous wildebeests. 

He pastes on a fake smile and faces his overzealous audience, trying to look like he _wants_ to be here. “Hello, Trainees,” he says, bowing out of propriety. “My name is Mark Lee. I’m a Flier in the EXO-CBX squadron and I’ll be your lecturer this afternoon. Does anyone have any questions?”

A tall, gangly boy—an Alpha, judging by his smell, which he’s so forgotten to block—saunters forward, smirking. “Mark Lee? The Ace?”

Mark flinches. He hasn’t heard that nickname in a long time. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replies carefully. “I’m not any more skilled than any of the other Fliers in Ludus.”

“Then how come you’re so young?” 

“I’m afraid we should focus on why we’re here,” Mark replies, forcing himself to sound polite, “instead of on my life story.”

“Why _are_ we here, then?” the Alpha shoots back, his tone just a hue away from being confrontational.

“Because I’m sure many of you came here to become a Flier, and if you’re set on that path, then one day, you might find yourself in this very room,” he answers, patient and rehearsed, almost as if he’s reciting from a textbook, even if he wants to pick up the Alpha by the scruff of his collar and chuck him out of the room. But that would be a little unfair. The kid’s here to learn, even if he is aggressive about it. 

Besides, Mark remembers arriving at Ludus and bouncing around the base, sixteen but bursting with questions, questions he asked anyone and everyone, no matter their age or rank, no matter their expertise or experience. Everything was new and frightening but also thrilling, like dipping his hand inside of the ocean for the first time and realizing there was an entire world beneath his fingertips. 

Maybe it’s like that for the Trainee, too. 

Mark smiles at the Trainees again. “We call this place the simulation room, because the machine inside of—the HALO—can mimic a Drift.” He pauses. “Does anyone know what a Drift is? Has anyone heard about it at all?” 

No one responds. 

Mark hadn’t expected them to know. The Drift is a secret kept within the realms of the military, because no one understands enough about what it is to describe it to outsiders. He doesn't understand it either, if he’s being honest, not in a way that can be transcribed into a thesis or memorialized into a motto, but he’s _experienced_ it; he knows what it feels like, and looks like and sounds like, and that’s all they—the Trainees, the next round of South Korean soldiers—need to know, too. 

“Imagine you’re dreaming,” he says, choosing his words carefully, precisely, the way Captain Kim always does during a debriefing. “Imagine...sharing that dream with someone else. Now imagine that someone else allowing you to enter their dream in return. That’s… That’s the Drift. It’s a bridge between your and your partner. It’s your minds melding together.”

Their reactions are similar: cocked heads, eyes shifting from him to the door and back again. Even the outspoken Alpha Trainee looks puzzled, his mouth twisted into a grimace. 

“Okay,” Mark says, more to himself than to the Trainees, noticing their clear confusion. He strides toward the HALO machine and presses his hand on the glass bubble. At his touch, the bubble vanishes, leaving behind the set of chairs. “Maybe it’s time for a demonstration.”

“On...on the Drift?” someone asks, a new voice, hesitant and timid.

Mark looks over his shoulder and finds himself looking at another Trainee. He’s one of the taller ones in the room, but his face looks sweeter and more open. “Sort of," Mark answers. "HALO doesn’t allow you to enter the Drift State, so this is more of a simulation.” 

“Then why bother with it?” the first Trainee, the Smelly Alpha, calls out. “We’re Alphas. We don’t need to play pretend with a fuckin’ videogame.” 

Mark counts to ten to regain his patience before he explains. “If you enter a Drift with someone you’re not compatible with, your neuronal circuits won’t be able to handle the stress and you’ll enter a comatose state. To prevent that from happening, we use a simulator to test our compatibility with our partner. If you’re able to enter each other’s memories in the simulator, you’re Drift Compatible.” 

“What if it’s wrong?” the Alpha challenges. “What then?”

“Well,” Mark says, raising an eyebrow, “then you die.”

The Alpha shuts his mouth, embarrassed, flushing pink.

“On that bright note,” Mark says, almost smiling, “can I have a volunteer?”

He doesn’t expect anyone to volunteer. Two empty chairs can be pretty intimidating on their own and the prospect of potential death isn’t appealing, either. Hell, Mark isn’t a fan himself. A long time ago, he’d even tried to convince his brother to forgo testing their compatibility altogether, and when that hadn’t worked, he had hid in Captain Kim’s bathroom. He’s not expecting anyone to want to undergo a demonstration with him, a complete stranger, right away. 

So he’s surprised when a voice rings out, clear and crisp, “I’ll do it.”

He’s even more surprised when he registers who that voice belongs to. 

_Him? Again?_

Trainee Lee weaves through the rest of his peers, nimble and quick, until he’s closer to the machine, to Mark. 

Last night, he had been bruised and bloody and a little bit broken, his eyes dark and manic, his words as jagged as a splintered branch. This morning, at breakfast, though… Well, his damp hair curled around his forehead in a decidedly soft way, like spun silk, glowing gold in the sunlight. The sun had transformed the rest of his face, too, softening it, bringing out the warmth in his skin, highlighting the gentleness of his jaw and the sleek, pretty curve of his eyes. And… And he had made eye contact with Mark. Just once. Just a brief glance, nothing more than that, but it had surprised Mark. There had been a hint of derision in the Trainee’s eyes—that same darkness from last night—but also uncertainty and something else, something hidden and obscured, like seaweed floating underneath a muddy pond. Fear? No, Mark knows what fear looks like, knows what it feels like, and this wasn’t that. It was… It was… 

_Confusing._

Now? Now Mark’s even more confused.

Because the softness has evaporated. The Trainee’s face is shadowed. He’s not smiling. He’s not frowning, either. His eyes are damp, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to cry. No, he looks like he’s ready to march into war, armed with a gun and a knapsack, waving his country’s bloodied flag in the air. He looks _resolute_. And, more than anything, he looks pained. 

“Sir?”

Mark snaps out of his reverie. Swallows hard. “You… want to do this?”

“Would I have volunteered if I didn’t?”

“I…” Mark doesn’t want to accede, but he has no reason not to. “I guess not.”

Trainee Lee waits. _Biding his time_.

Mark clears his throat. “Then—well, sit down.”

A terse nod. “After you.”

It sounds well-mannered, but it feels like a challenge. Mark tears his gaze away from the Omega and crosses the threshold into the HALO. He pushes himself down on a chair and watches, eyes narrowing, as Trainee Lee follows his lead, sitting down beside him. 

“Well?” says Mark, something stirring inside of him, although he’s not sure what it is. “Are you ready, Trainee Lee?”

Something flashes in the Trainee’s eyes. “I don’t remember giving you my name, sir.”

Mark’s eyes flicker to their audience and he connects the dots. _Fuck._ “Lucky guess,” he says, almost stuttering, but before he has a chance to collect his thoughts, to save himself from total mortification, he… he… 

Slips.

_“Donghyuck-ah.”_

_Mark raises his head, even though the woman isn’t addressing him. She’s addressing a small boy, no more than seven or eight, curly-haired and freckled._

_“Donghyuck-ah, will you cry?”_

_“No,” the boy says._

_“Will you give grandmama a hard time?”_

_“No,” the boy says again, more quietly. He digs his toe into the dirt._

_“Will you take care of your siblings?”_

_“No, I won’t do that either.”_

_Mark has to stifle a smile. Had he been like that once? Ill-tempered and impatient in the way only children can be?_

_“If you don’t take care of Yuna or the twins,” the woman says, kneeling in front of the boy, clasping his hands and bringing them to her heart, “Mom will be worried. Do you understand?”_

_“So what?” the boy snaps, snatching his hands away from her and whirling around, all knobby knees and hurt feelings. “So what if you’re worried? You should worry some more if you’re gonna leave your kids like this!”_

_The memory dissipates before Mark hears her response._

_And then he is sitting on a beach beside the same boy, who is now older, maybe ten. Maybe eleven. His limbs are longer and his hands are more worn. His eyes are red. Mark says very quietly, “Trainee Lee, are you there?”_

_The boy does not hear him._

_Mark sighs. Dammit._

_“Wherever you are,” Mark says into the warm, humid air, “listen to me: you have to let go. You have to slip.”_

_“I hate her,” the boy murmurs._

_“Let go,” Mark says._

_“I hate all of them.”_

_“Slip, please.”_

_Tears stream down the boy’s face. “It’s not fair.”_

It never is _, Mark thinks, something within him burning white-hot, like a tin-foil sun left forgotten on a sidewalk. He wants to tell the boy that it gets better sometimes, that pain isn’t always an unwanted houseguest, and that you can build homes in other people, in better people, who won’t abandon you or hurt you or force you to grow up by yourself, but that’s not always true, is it? And Mark—Mark doesn’t want to lie. Not here. Not in the Drift._

_Instead, he waits._

_Moments later—or hours maybe—the beach vanishes and so, too, does the boy._

_In their place: a steel-gray bunk bed and two bodies entangled on top of the mattress, one of them much paler and bulkier than the other. Mark can’t see past his broad shoulders or the bulging biceps, but he does spot a head of curly, gold-strewn hair underneath him and his stomach drops, like a stone chucked into an abyss._

_He closes his eyes. Jerks his head away._

_He shouldn’t—he shouldn’t look—_

_“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”_

_Blue tiles, a broken mirror. A sink? A teenage boy has his head bent in the sink, and he’s bleeding: from his wrists, from his mouth, his shoulder. Forgetting himself, Mark reaches out and grasps the boy’s shoulder, wanting to—what? Comfort him?_

_The boy raises his head._

_He_ sees _Mark._

_“It’s just a dream,” Mark says, “come on, you can wake up. You can let go.”_

_The boy’s eyes shift until Mark sees himself reflected inside of them._

_“You have to wake up, too,” the teenager says, his hand reaching out to grasp Mark’s. “I’m tired of falling.”_

_Falling._

_Falling._

_Fall—_

_He’s falling out of a black sky and there’s the smell of a burning body in the air and maybe it’s his body that’s burning, but it’s not, it can’t be, because he knows how this night ends, and it’s not him who dies. Why is he here again? Isn’t once enough? Hasn’t he suffered enough?_

_“Let go,” except it’s not him saying it; it’s Trainee Lee, or Donghyuck, or whoever he is._

_Donghyuck is falling beside him, his fingers brushing against Mark’s, his eyes narrowed but steady, his shoulders squared, even as the barbed peaks of the mountains loom in front of them._

_He’s not scared._

When Mark opens his eyes, he’s back in the simulation room. 

The Trainees are silent.

Trainee Lee is panting quietly.

Mark jumps up and, without sparing a glance at the Trainee beside him, says, “Demo’s over. You’re all dismissed.”

§§•§§

“Did it go well?” Captain Kim asks at lunch.

“Not too bad." Mark digs into his stir-fried noodles. “By the way, hyung, when will we be allowed to eat in the barracks again?”

“Why?” Captain Kim’s voice is sly. “Trying to avoid anyone?”

“No.” _Yes._

Thankfully, Baekhyun saves him. “General Kwon’s insisting that all of the Fliers eat together in the cafeteria during the first week. After that, we should be Gucci. Maybe even Versace.” 

Mark laughs despite himself. 

“Thanks, Mark.” 

“No problem, hyung.”

“Almost makes up for you staying up all night.”

Mark groans. 

“Hey,” Baekhyun says, flicking him on the forehead, “I’m just worried about your health, alright? You work too hard.”

“I’m good, hyung, I promise.”

Baekhyun leans back in his chair. “Do you believe him, Minnie? ‘Cause I don’t think I do.”

“I don't either,” Captain Kim responds, even-toned. 

They high-five and Mark groans again, feeling very sorry for himself. He loves his squadron and his hyungs, he really does, but his head is pulsating and his body is aching and only partly because of his lack of sleep. Most of his discomfort is due to this morning’s stint in the HALO machine. 

Trainee Lee had entered his mind. His memories.

He’d—he’d seen one of the worst nights of Mark’s life, which shouldn’t have happened, because Mark hasn’t been Drift Compatible with _anyone_ since… Since… 

“Mark Lee?”

Mark blinks and looks up, expecting Captain Kim or Baekhyun to be directing a question at him, but instead it’s… 

“Park Junghwa?” Mark asks, surprised. 

Junghwa grins, sharp-toothed. “The only and only, I’m afraid.” He tips his head in Captain Kim’s direction. “Hello there, Cap’n. How you doin’?”

“Very well, thank you,” Captain Kim says. “Have they given you access yet?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” Junghwa laughs but his eyes narrow and when he looks at Mark again, Mark has the sudden, irrevocable feeling that he’s being scrutinized and picked apart like a specimen underneath a microscope. “But I’m starting to think I won’t need it. Your protege did very well with my Trainees, Cap. He’s got me feeling a little unneeded.”

“That’s not—that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Junghwa says softly. “I heard you put on quite a good show with—who was it? Lee?” 

_It wasn’t a show._ “I’m not sure. I… I don’t really know him.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah," Mark lies. "It is."

Junghwa nods, face clearing, and he claps Mark on the back. “Well, either way, my kids learned a thing or two from you! You’re a good man, Lee.”

“I'm...I wasn't...I was just doing my duty.”

Captain Kim throws his arm around Mark’s shoulders. “Minhyung is too humble for his own good." The practiced restraint in the Captain's voice drips into something much warmer and more pleased. "I’m not surprised he did well. He always does. He’s exceptional.”

“Hyung, stop,” Mark says, flushing.

Junghwa laughs. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to extend the invitation, eh? My Trainees are going through their first scored trials this week. Simple stuff—running, climbing, swimming, the works—but there’s a lot of ‘em and it could always help to have more hands.” His eyes gleam. “You might even get the chance to know some of 'em better.”

“Actually,” Captain Kim says, beating Mark to the punch, sounding the way he does when he’s considering an elaborate plan made in the thick of battle, “that might not be a bad idea. I was supposed to help Minhyung with some of his aerial maneuvers this week, but my wife called, and her heat is going to come this week…”

If possible, Mark turns a brighter shade of red than before. "Hyung..." 

“So, I took the week off to go back to Busan.”

“Oh,” Mark says weakly. “Okay.”

“You understand, don’t you, Minhyung?”

“Yeah… Yeah, of course I do, hyung.”

Captain Kim rubs the back of Mark’s ears. “Thank you, Minhyung. I appreciate it.”

Mark sighs but accepts Captain Kim’s ministrations. 

He’s so distracted by Captain Kim that he almost forgets Park Junghwa is watching them until Junghwa says, “If you've got the time, then make sure to come, Mark Lee.” And then, leaning forward, he murmurs, “His name is Donghyuck, by the way. Lee Donghyuck.”

§§•§§

At dawn the next day, out on the Training Fields, all Mark can think is, _I already knew his name._

Not that it matters.

He’s supposed to be avoiding Trainee Lee, anyway. 

_Whatever,_ Mark thinks, stuffing his fingers into his jacket’s pockets. His suit is lined with some protective thermal layer, but frost covers the green grass and there are icicles growing off of the trees. When Mark exhales, a cloud of air dissipates into the atmosphere. It’s almost December and the winters keep getting colder. 

The cold must be hitting the Trainees harder, though.

They don't have the luxury of fancy thermal tech. They don’t even have real coats.

No, all they’ve got is those pitiful Trainee Uniforms—a black suit-jacket and blank pants and black combat boots, because clearly, Ludus wants to remind them of their suffering at all possible times. “Poor kids,” Mark mutters, before he realizes that he sounds just like his hyungs. (Except for Doyoung. Doyoung isn’t a sympathetic person even on his most sympathetic days.) _I mean… moderately well-off kids?_

They’re not starving, at least. And they’ve got a bed and a roof over their heads.

That’s something.

As Mark starts making a mental checklist of all the positives of the Trainee experience—clean bathrooms, biyearly stipends, Sundays off—the Trainees file into the Fields in separate groups.

The first group has around, what? Eighty members?

The second: twenty-something. No, less than that.

The third… 

_Four?_

_Why did he separate them by subgenders?_

The groups start running laps around the Fields, merging together over time. The Alphas are a brawnier bunch, but some of the Betas are lanky and have thick, meaty calves and Mark guesses they’ll have an advantage over the others. With one exception, the Omegas are quite short and if he’s being honest, he expects them to fall back to the rear, obscured by the showy glory of their peers…

Mark’s mouth falls open.

Trainee Lee is leading the pack. He's quicksilver fast, like an arrow released from the bow, like a sword swinging in an arc toward his enemy’s neck. He's almost vicious when he runs, but this is a race, after all, and the winner of this race will be the first winner amongst the Trainees—and doesn’t that mean something, winning first? Mark can feel how badly he wants it with how recklessly he throws himself into the wind, as if he’s competing against nature itself, waging war with it, going to battle with the sky, and Mark wonders: _What’s he fighting for?_

His mother? Or that beach? Or the body that had wrapped around his own?

Does it matter? Does it matter when he can run this fast? When he’s a blur?

Mark can’t even see his face, much less his eyes, but the watery late-November sun illuminates him, like paper underneath lamplight and as Mark tracks his trajectory, something within him, something primeval and ancient and enduring, ignites. 

His fingers clench into fists.

He wants to race, too. 

The desire is sudden and relentless. It pushes him closer to the Trainees until he’s standing at the edge, inches away from them, from their sweating faces, from their heavy panting, from the thunderous roar of their boots clamping into the mud and frost. 

_Would I win against him?_

Trainee Lee slides past him, sure-footed and agile. He’s gasping now, too, breathless but still running, still enduring, and as he turns the corner he looks over his shoulder… 

“Watch out!”

Mark spins on his heels just in time as Trainee Lee dives forward, flanked by two Alphas. The Trainee skids to the ground, but his knees fall past the demarcating black line painted on the ground, and when he rises, it’s nothing short of glorious. His hair sticks to his face, glued to it with sweat, his cheeks are rosy and his eyes gleam prettily, and he raises his hands in the air, triumphant and ascendant.

“He fucking cheated!”

One of the Alphas who’d flanked him—he has silver hair and very thin lips—storms forward, grabbing Trainee Lee’s hand, but before he can yank him backward, Mark crosses the grass and digs his fingers into the Alpha’s shoulder.

“Enough,” Mark says, eyes flashing. “Enough.”

“I told you, he fucking—”

Mark uses his free hand to scrape off one the scent blockers on his wrists. He presses his wrist, free of the blocker, into the Alpha’s face, waiting as his scent wafts into the Alpha’s nose: thick and threatening and heady, forcing him into submission. Mark doesn’t do this, not usually, not ever, but he is the senior here and he’s in charge of making sure the rules are followed. Physical fighting is _definitely_ against the rules, and besides. Mark’s eyes flicker to Trainee Lee’s. He’d won fair and square.

The Alpha stumbles.

Mark lets go of him.

“Alright?” Mark asks, not to the Alpha, but to Trainee Lee. 

The Trainee’s mouth contorts into a scowl, destroying all of his golden beauty in mere seconds. “Stop fighting my battles for me. _Sir._ ”

His voice is sour like curdled milk.

Mark stares him, dumbfounded. “I’m not—”

“You are and it’s annoying as hell.” He wipes the dirt off of his pants, still glowering. “I don’t know what you saw this morning but on the off chance it made you think I needed your help, _forget_ it.”

“That’s… That’s not what I—”

“If I need you to save me, I’ll ask, alright?”

Again, Mark protests weakly. 

And again, the Trainee cuts him off. 

“We’re not friends. You’re not even my mentor. So leave me _alone_.”

 _Hold on,_ Mark thinks, still trying to get a handle on this conversation. You _were the one who wanted to Drift with me. What the hell do you mean, leave you alone? You should leave_ me _alone!_

But he doesn’t get a chance to say _any_ of that, because the sound of a whistle slices the air and all of the Trainees start moving away from Mark and toward the other end of the field, where Park Junghwa is waiting with a clipboard and a stopwatch.

Mark watches as Trainee Lee heads back, heart thundering in his chest.

§§•§§

Mark keeps count.

Out of the seven competitions that occur during that week, Trainee Lee wins three. Two of them are won by two different Alphas, one by a spiky-haired Beta, and the last one by another Omega, who—judging by the way she leaps into Trainee Lee’s arms after her victory, laughing out loud—must be one of his friends. 

Mark isn’t obsessed, alright? He’s just… impressed.

One win is hard enough to earn, but three? Three? 

He’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t woken up this Saturday morning, eager to see how today’s test fares.

They’re at Lake Sejeong now and the Trainees have changed from their regular uniforms to sleek, waterproof swimming gear. 

“Who do you think is going to win?” Junghwa asks him, tone light and airy, amused.

“Lee," Mark replies.

“There are many Lees, Mark Lee.” Junghwa chuckles to himself. “But I know who you mean. You’ve taken quite a liking to him, eh?”

If Mark’s cheeks are pink, it’s because of the cold weather. (And only the weather.) “He’s… good. Really good.”

“Well,” Junghwa says into the thin, icy air, “I did train him, after all.”

Mark spares him a glance. “You—”

“He’s one of my Incheon Trainees. I nursed the kid.”

Mark isn’t sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything, opting instead to move closer to the lake, where the Trainees are warming up. If he strays by the Omegas’ tacit allocated corner, it’s by _accident_ and only from the most careful of distances. And only when he’s concealed by the pier. (Okay, so maybe it’s not coincidental, but so what? He doesn’t need a hotheaded Trainee biting off his ear again.)

“Donghyuck-ssi, are you alright?”

The voice is familiar. It takes Mark a moment to realize it belongs to one of the Trainees who’d questioned him in the simulation room—the sweet one, the one he’d thought was a Beta.

“Never better, Jeno-ssi. Oh, and when are we gonna drop the honorifics?”

“When you tell me what’s going on.”

Mark inches closer. _Something’s going on_? 

“It's nothing, stop being so paranoid.”

“You… You missed dinner. And you didn’t come home until we were all asleep.”

“Jeno—”

“And you’re limping today. What’s up with that?”

Mark frowns. Did Trainee Lee get into another fight? Surely, he can’t be that stupid or reckless, can he? Not when he’s so close to being at the top of his class, not when this is the last competition of the week, and not when rankings come out tomorrow. And yet… 

Can Mark put it past him?

“I’m fine, Jesus.”

“You don’t look fine. You look tired.”

“That's just my face. Are you insulting my face, Jeno-ssi? My God given face? I’m literally about to cry right now—don’t roll your eyes, asshole, you’d be sobbing, too, if someone had the nerve to verbally attack your face…” 

Their voices fade until the only thing Mark can hear anymore is the rustling of the water as the breeze waltzes with the lake. What should Mark do with this information? Granted, he doesn’t know the Trainee personally, even if he has run into him and taken him to the Infirmary, even if they have shared a Drift, even if they are Drift Compatible… 

Dammit, maybe he _should_ be stepping in.

Just to check up on him.

Everyone needs a support system, isn’t that what Doyoung-hyung always says? Mark isn’t trying to be the Trainee’s safety net, and he most certainly isn’t going to fight his battles for him, but… but a helpful hand, here and there, a word of moral support? It’s not atypical of a senior to do that for his juniors. 

He wouldn’t be breaking the rules or anything. He wouldn’t even be skirting past an ethical code of conduct.

And if Trainee Lee doesn’t want to hear him out, fine. At least Mark can say he tried.

Decision made, he heads back to the shore. 

Except, before he can steal Trainee Lee away for a quick conversation, the whistle sounds and all of the Trainees dive into the water, swimming furiously toward the other end of the lake.

Mark doesn’t spot Trainee Lee at first.

He’s looking at the front of the pack, waiting to spot that golden head of curly hair, but Trainee Lee isn't there, because he’s… He’s losing.

He’s drifted away from the majority of the swimmers, his head submerged in the water before he kicks himself back up, spluttering, his hands windmilling into the lake in a futile attempt to thrust himself forward. 

Mark’s heart squeezes. _What's going on?_

“Twenty seconds to finish!” Junghwa yells. 

The Trainees paddle harder with the exception of Trainee Lee, who’s hovering in the same place, the brackish lake water rising over his chin, then his lips, up… and up… 

“Junghwa," Mark says suddenly, "you have to call off the race.”

“I’d rather die.” Junghwa laughs. “No, Mark, we’re gonna finish this thing.”

Mark sprints to the lake, but just as he's about to jump into the water, three other Trainees turn around and head back toward Lee. The fastest one, a female Trainee, loops her arms around his waist and passes him to the tallest Trainee, who manages to carry him on his back. The third Trainee adjusts Trainee Lee’s legs and then the three of them swim toward the opposite end of the lake together.

“Ten seconds!”

The Trainees don’t make it in time. They’re the last ones in the lake and the last ones on the other side and it’s not up to Mark to make these rules—it’s up to the Director of First-Year Training, who can do as he sees fit—but the injustice of it all makes him see red. He strides back to Junghwa, blurting out, “You can’t let them lose like this! They—they deserve a second chance, all of them.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“You _know_ why. I know you saw what I saw.”

“I saw a Trainee who couldn’t keep up lead his friends into defeat. And I saw friends foolish enough to allow that to happen.”

“In war,” Mark says, frustration creeping into his voice, “in actual battle, they’d be heroes.”

“No, Lee. They’d all be dead.”

“What would know?” Mark’s hands twitch. “Have you ever fought in a war or have you been too busy posturing in front of a bunch of kids and pretending like it’s the same thing?”

Instead of anger, a look of righteous resignation settles on Park Junghwa’s carefree face, a look that promises dire things to come. “Oh, I've been to war, son. And unlike you, it's given me thick skin. But if you're too _weak_ to see your favorite Omega struggling, you can always leave.”

§§•§§

“Congratulations to the winners,” Junghwa states, eyes alight with a zealot’s fervor as he addresses his shivering students. “Na Jaemin, you in particular proved yourself—I’m certain you’ve beaten your old man’s record. Good job, son.”

Mark's eyes remain fixed on Trainee Lee, who has collapsed on top of his friends, his hair covered in saltwater and wet sand, his teeth chattering, his lips turning blue. He wants to wrap a towel around the Trainee, and even more so to let him go back to the warm interior of the Base, where he can take a hot shower and grab a quick bite to eat. Hell, maybe even the Infirmary is in question… He might have already caught pneumonia… 

“As for Lee Donghyuck,” Junghwa states and Mark snaps back to attention, like a puppet who’s string has been pulled, “you’ve proven yourself quite the disappointment. Not only did you lose, but you brought your other friends down with you. In an actual life-or-death situation, you would have blood on your hands."

_No,_ _no, you're wrong—_

“S—Sorry, sir…” Donghyuck whispers.

“Sorry won’t cut it, Donghyuck-ah.” Junghwa crouches in front of Donghyuck and his friends. He presses a thumb on Donghyuck’s lips. “Are you cold, son?”

Mark watches as the Trainee nods, wrapped in the embrace of his friends. 

“Sir,” one of them says, the girl that had first reached him in the water, “I think we should take him back.”

“Well, darling, since you asked so nicely…” Junghwa turns to Trainee Lee again and says, “Shall we make a deal, Donghyuck-ah? Just like we used to in Incheon?”

“Y—Yes...sir.” 

“Well, let’s say I forgive the fact that your friends lost because of you. Let’s say I even out their scores so that they’re somewhere in the middle instead of dead last. Would you like that, Donghyuck-ah?”

"P—Please." 

“In turn,” Junghwa says, “I want you to race one more time.” He trails his thumb down Trainee Lee’s chin and neck. “I’ll bring the Trainees back to the Mess Hall for dinner and you’ll race by yourself. And this time, I want you to wear a metal jacket, can you do that for me?”

_Are you crazy?_

Mark wants to protest this decision, because it's stupid and reckless and life-endangering, but it’s not his place. It’s never been his place. He’s not their Trainer and he’s not a Council-appointed Director in Ludus, either. He’s a Flier and that holds a lot of sway in Ludus—hell, anywhere in the country—but there are certain lines he can’t cross, lines that he’s already crossed and lamented over. What would Junghwa do if Mark speaks up now and humiliates him in front of his own Trainees? Would he force his Trainees to swim in a shark-infested ocean, next, dressed in a meat suit? Or scuba dive in the middle of a volcano? 

“Donghyuck, don’t you dare!” A different girl clutches Trainee Lee's dripping-wet chest with an almost Alphalike level of ferocity, but her eyes are gentle, pleading. " _Don’t_ , Donghyuck,” she repeats, holding him. “It’s okay if we lose, it’s not the end of the world.”

 _Yes,_ Mark thinks, _yes, please, listen to her._

“Heejin, you… you can’t… s—top me. Suh—suh...Sorry.”

Trainee Lee wriggles out of his friends’ grasp and Junghwa grins.

“As expected, Donghyuck-ah. I knew you’d make me proud.”

§§•§§

Mark doesn’t leave. 

He isn’t obligated to, of course, and Junghwa can’t force him to, either, because Mark isn’t a Trainee and therefore falls out of his jurisdiction. That doesn’t mean Junghwa can’t shoot him a cold, calculated look before he leaves with the rest of the Trainees, a look that states, _If you interfere, Mark Lee, you will regret it._

Mark ignores the look.

He watches, eagle-eyed, as Trainee Lee struggles to fit the metal jacket over his swimsuit. It’s not so much a jacket as it is a cage: a mesh of different strips of metal interwoven into a lung-like apparatus that he somehow manages to fit over himself. It’s snug, Mark notices, and would be difficult to remove on land, much less in the middle of a body of water. 

“Be careful,” Mark murmurs underneath his breath.

The Trainee doesn’t hear him.

He wades into the water, testing the weight of the cage.

Then be comes back, sits on the shore, and takes several deep, shaking breaths. Mark’s pretty sure he doesn’t even know Mark’s here, which is for the best. He doesn’t want to add to the Trainee’s already fraught nerves.

“Come on, Donghyuck,” the Trainee says to himself. “Come on.”

He dives back into the water.

And this time—this time he doesn’t come back.

He swims forward furiously, his arms moving at twice the speed they had before, water splashing all around him. He spits and coughs out water and keeps moving, until he’s almost at the halfway point and something goes wrong. 

One of the metal strips flies upward, into the Trainee’s eyes, and he pauses for a second, but that’s enough time for the jacket to start weighing him down. He starts sinking like an anchor.

At first, he struggles, choking for air, but even that sound dies down and his body gives way and his head sinks under—

And Mark is in the water now, all thoughts of keeping witness, of not doing anything, of letting what happens happen, flying out of his head. He’s a good swimmer and he swims harder now than he’s ever swum before in his life and in seconds—maybe even less than that—he’s gripping the Trainee’s waist, holding him afloat, metal jacket and all, and dragging him away from the lake and onto the opposite sandbank.

He shoves the Trainee on the bank, waiting for him to open his eyes, to breathe, but that doesn’t happen.

He’s still and he’s quiet—and _fuck_ , he already swallowed so much water— 

Mark can’t perform the Heimlich if there’s a bunch of razor-sharp, pointed bits of metal sticking out of the Trainee’s swimsuit and he doesn’t have time to take it off of him, either, so he uses brute force to rip apart the Trainee’s swimsuit. The jacket comes off, little by little, until Mark scratches even more and it tears away, his nails digging into the Trainee's skin.

He lets go of the Trainee's shoulder and starts performing the Heimlich. 

Once, twice— 

And then, the Trainee’s coughing, coughing out water and a little bit of vomit and whatever other debris he had swallowed in the lake. Mark relieves some of the pressure he’d been putting on the Trainee’s abdominal area, but keeps his hands on the Trainee’s skin, just in case he needs to perform it again. Just in case once isn’t enough. 

It’s a precaution, nothing more and nothing less, but then his hands start heating up.

Mark glances down, disoriented, and his heart starts staccato-ing when, from beneath the saltwater and sand and their shared spilled blood, a faint line emerges on the Trainee’s chest. 

_What the hell?_

The line bursts into a flurry of other lines, like the roots of a tree, and some of the lines intersect each other and some don’t, but it’s becoming clear what they are, what _this_ is. Mark’s eyes widen more than they’ve ever widened before and he tries to yank his hands away from the Trainee’s chest, but he can't move them. He can’t—he can’t do _anything_ —

The lines start glowing, as if a thousand miniature suns are being birthed within them. Mark’s eyes water but he continues staring, a moth drawn to a lamp. His heart bursts in his chest and takes flight, in fear and wonder and confusion and even… 

The Trainee cries out at the same time Mark does.

Because Mark—Mark feels that heat again, but no longer from the Trainee. The heat emanates from inside of him, like he’s made of bits of paper and those bits of paper have been thrown inside of a hearth and left to crumble into ashes. He’s crumbling. He feels it. 

He swallows and tastes burning. 

And ash.

And embers.

And— 

Mark wets his lips, desperate for anything, even the smallest bit of water, to cease the flames licking the inside of his heart. He expects to taste more destruction, but samples something like honey, sweet, oh so sweet, and so summery. 

The Trainee groans, pained. Mark wiggles his fingers and finds that he can move his hands again. He gently pulls his hands away from the Trainee’s chest and holds them above the Trainee’s mouth, instead, not pushing, not even touching, just lingering. 

_Come on—please. It’ll help._

The Trainee’s face is flushed and sweaty. His tongue peeks out of his puffy lips, sliding forward, scared and uncertain, but tastes the tip of Mark’s thumb and—

“Oh,” he says throatily, surprised.

And then— 

“ _Oh_.”

The pain dies down as the Trainee sucks on Mark’s finger. Mark’s eyes flutter shut but he forces them open, fighting against the slow languish sinking in his veins. “We… have to go,” Mark whispers. 

Of course, _of course_ , the Trainee doesn’t respond, his chest rising and falling steadily. 

_No,_ Mark thinks, _no, wake up, come on._

He drags his free hand down the Trainee’s bare shoulder, intending to cup it around his waist and pull him forward, when he first catches sight of the symbol tattooed on the center of the Trainee’s chest:

A sun inscribed inside a circle. 

§§•§§

Mark rests his head on the edge of the cot railing. “Hyung, my chest hurts.”

“Of _course_ your chest hurts,” Doyoung says, seizing on Mark’s momentary slowness with the vengeance of a cat clawing at an irritating rodent, “of course it’d hurt if you’d Bonded to another Omega without even Claiming him, you complete and utter—”

“My head hurts, too,” Mark says, listening to a third of what Doyoung’s saying. “Like. Real bad. Please stop talking.” 

Except he’s speaking into the railing so his voice turns out muffled and he ends up saying, “ _Pweaf fop twing_.” 

“Oh my God,” Doyoung says, “I’m dealing with… with a preschooler right now. I can’t… I cannot. I didn’t go to medical school for this.”

Mark raises his head, about to plead with Doyoung to _please stop with the hysterics, I feel like I’m dying_ , but then his eyes fall on the person tucked inside of the cot he’s currently dying over and something inside of him goes _whish_ and the headache disappears like a bad drawing inside of an etch-a-sketch. 

_He’s so pretty,_ Mark thinks absentmindedly, _he’s so very, very pretty._

Even like this… Even surrounded by a bunch of tubes and beeping monitors, he’s the most beautiful thing Mark’s ever seen and Mark’s seen a lot of pretty things, including but not limited to: violently majestic sunsets that bruise purple and orange, and decidedly less violent but certainly no less majestic sunrises that leave a pearly-eyed trail in their wake, and sunflowers that twist toward the midday sun, and things that aren’t related to the sun at all, like bright red dahlias and plump little robins chirping at the first coming of spring. 

Mark’s never, ever seen anyone so pretty before, so he doesn’t even realize he’s inching forward, his hand creeping toward the Trainee, trying to trace the contours of his sweetly curved face, until Doyoung clamps a hand on his wrist.

For being a rather unfit Beta, Doyoung’s grip is surprisingly unyielding. 

“Hyung,” Mark hisses, angry for the first time, considering driving Doyoung away with a well-placed punch, “what are you doing?”

“You, my naive, blundering, foolish friend, are not in your right mind.” Doyoung’s voice mellows and he sounds wistful and a little bit sad when he says, “And I’m afraid you still have no idea what you’ve done, have you?”

Mark blinks. “I… No?”

“Mark,” Doyoung says heavily, “you’re Bonded now. I don’t know how you’ve managed to do it with someone you met two days ago, but you have. And now, here we are, stuck in the middle of a great, big, disastrous mess.”

“I… Bonded him?” Mark repeats, voice growing shrill as the words sink in and the horror sets him. “Me? I did? _Me?_ ” 

Doyoung sighs. “Yes, Mark. You.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mark: *sees donghyuck win a race once*  
> mark: im in love
> 
> (again, i hope you guys enjoyed this update & pls pls lmk what you think + what your theories are so far about where this fic is headed. i enjoy reading your comments so much & i'm gonna try my best to respond to all of them! also: some of y'all are quite fast at picking up my hints, omg, wow)


	3. i.iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Thank you so much your your comments + kudos
> 
> Two things to note:
> 
> 1) I'm trying, tentatively, to update every Sunday, but if I decide to do that then updates will end up being a little bit shorter, word count-wise, maybe only 5K instead of 7-8K.
> 
> 2) Someone brought this up in the comments, but I thought I would mention it here: There won't be noncon/rape in this story. There are references to abuse, but I'm not comfortable writing about rape, at least not right now. If that changes, I'll let you guys know well in advance.
> 
> I hope this clears things up! 
> 
> Happy reading!

_Donghyuck has never been inside a plane before._

_His grandmother couldn’t even afford a Hyundai. She had a motorcycle, christened Miyeong, they used to travel to and from the fish markets in Dongmun, where Donghyuck would sell hairtail fish and live abalone to both tourists and locals. Sometimes, when he hadn’t sold enough, he took home the leftovers and made spicy fish hotpot with sour kimchi and rice. After dinner, he would ride Miyeong to Hwasun beach and lie on the dark black sand for hours, thinking and dreaming (and crying, sometimes.)_

_Donghyuck doesn’t think, dream, or cry in this plane, though._

_He can’t when it’s crashing._

_The left wing snaps in half. The rudder bends in two._

_Then, as if it wants to join its friends, the right wing breaks._

_It reminds him of the way his grandmother removed the spine from a fish: cutting a line at the gill and hooking two fingers into the exposed pink flesh and then slowly pulling the spine out of the animal a bristle at a time._

_Once the skeleton was gone, there was nothing left of the fish except for tender, naked meat._

_Once the wings are gone, there’s nothing left of the plane except for the exposed underbelly of the cockpit, where Donghyuck is sitting in alongside two other men. One of them is achingly, ephemerally beautiful, like a moonlit reflection of a lover, and the other… Well, the other one looks boyish and terrified and plain, like an old newspaper clipping left on the breakfast table._

_“I don’t want to die,” the boy says over and over again._

_Donghyuck thinks:_ get a grip.

_“You won’t, just grab my hand, Minhyung—”_

_The beautiful man doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the floor gives way and they—_

_They fall._

_Donghyuck watches them, suspended in the air like a marionette doll._

§§•§§

“Hello, Trainee Lee.”

Donghyuck’s eyes water when he opens them. “Where the hell am I?”

“In the Infirmary, unfortunately.”

It takes a moment for Donghyuck to digest this piece of information. When he does his vision clears a little and he realizes that he is, in fact, in the Infirmary of Ludus, tucked away in a cot, and not in a free-falling plane, like he was in his dream and in the simulation. His chest feels heavy, as if there is fat, snoring cat sitting on top of him. Or a pile of bricks.

He whimpers as he sits up.

“Please don’t get up.”

“Too late,” Donghyuck rasps.

Dr. Kim stands up—he’d been sitting down in a chair near one of the monitors—and grabs a pillow from the bed and tucks it behind Donghyuck’s back. “I know you want to move, but as your doctor, I would _strongly_ advise against it.”

“Why? Did I break my ribs or fracture my spine or something?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I was… I had to swim,” he says slowly, discomfort germinating inside of him as he remembers, “and… I didn’t—” He stops talking and looks away. “I drowned, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve drowned before. This feels a lot shittier.”

Dr. Kim narrows his eyes. He’s as skinny as a starving bird and he wears spectacles that are maybe two sizes too big for his face, so Donghyuck isn’t afraid of him, but he also knows better than to underestimate him. Dr. Moon hadn’t looked all that shrewd, either, when Donghyuck has first met him. “You didn’t just drown.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Did something happen to my chest? It hurts like a motherfucker.”

Dr. Kim hesitates.

_So, I’m right._

“I think,” Dr. Kim says faintly, his words suspended in the air, “it would be best if you pull up your shirt and look for yourself, Donghyuck-ssi.”

§§•§§

Donghyuck’s head spins. He digs his nails into the tattooed sun in the middle of his chest. The skin around the sun starts bleeding, but the Bonding Mark remains untouched, shimmering in the darkness of his Infirmary room. _It’s not coming off,_ Donghyuck thinks, the air rushing out of his lungs in one fell swoop. _It’s not coming off—it’s not—_

Dr. Kim pulls down Donghyuck’s shirt for him. “Breathe,” he says. His voice is firm but faraway, as if he’s standing on the other side of the room instead of right beside Donghyuck’s bed. “Inhale: one, two, three. Exhale: four, five, six. Come on, Donghyuck-ssi. Follow my lead.”

So Donghyuck does.

Dr. Kim keeps a soothing hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, breathing in tempo with him.

Finally, when Donghyuck isn’t physically panicking anymore, Dr. Kim pulls back, saying, “Well done, Donghyuck-ssi.”

Donghyuck licks his dry, brittle lips. “Can I have some water?”

“Here.”

Donghyuck takes the cup presented to him and downs it in one go, thirstier than he’s ever been in his entire life. When he’s done, he hands it back to Dr. Kim and sinks back on his pillows, wide-eyed and stiff. “Who did this to me?”

“It wasn’t _done_ to you,” Dr. Kim says gently, as if he’s treading on glass. Maybe he is. Donghyuck is on the cusp of shattering and he isn’t sure where all of his leftover pieces will go. “A Bond only occurs when an Omega and an Alpha trust each other, when they’re biologically, physically, and emotionally compatible in some way. Typically, this occurs after being Mated, but in your case…”

“You’re not answering my question. Who was it?”

( _Don’t let it be him. It can’t be him, I don’t trust him. I fucking hate him, I want to… I want to gut him with a knife, I want to punch him over and over again until he bleeds, until he knows what it feels like, this pain, this unending, excruciating pain—)_

“I… I don’t know if I should—”

“It’s okay, hyung.”

The voice is familiar. The voice is unexpected.

Donghyuck’s head shifts involuntarily, something tugging his gaze toward the door. Heat pools in his chest, like melted wax, before it cools and solidifies into something thin and tangible: a line that pulls taut, pinching Donghyuck, when he sees the Flier enter the room. The Flier stops at the foot of Donghyuck’s bed. His eyes are shadowed and his jaw is tense, as if he’s in pain. Can he feel Donghyuck’s rage, rolling through him like a thunderstorm?

Donghyuck grips the bedsheets in both of his hands so he can’t ball them into fists. He doesn’t bother greeting the Flier. “You? You did this to me? You touched me while I was drowning?”

The Flier blanches. “I did, but not to… Not to… I never— “

“Did you kiss me?”

“No.”

“Did you bite me?”

“ _No_.”

 _Liar._ “I was easy, wasn’t I?” Donghyuck’s vision blurs, but he holds in his tears. He’d rather die than let them fall down his face now. “I couldn’t have stopped you, after all. Did I cry? Did you like it?” The questions rush out of him. “I bet you did, you sadistic —”

“I didn’t fuck you.” The Flier’s voice is tight, as suffocating as the invisible line between them. “I saved your life, Trainee.”

Trainee? He’s focused on that now, instead of what Donghyuck’s saying? Well, fuck him and his goddamn honorifics.

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck says, voice growing louder with each syllable, “fuck you for lying about taking advantage of me and especially, _especially_ , fuck you for putting this stupid fucking sun on my chest—”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Mark,” Dr. Kim says, a diplomat standing in between two armies ready to go to war, his voice weaving through the room like smoke, “I think you should give Donghyuck some space.”

The Flier swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. He doesn’t look away from Donghyuck when he steps back, as if that would be surrendering, and Donghyuck doesn’t tear his gaze away, either, because he refuses to lose this battle, too. “Can’t, hyung. Captain Kim found out about—you know. I think one of the nurses told him. He wants to talk to me and,” he grimaces, “him.”

“I’ll talk,” Donghyuck says, sitting up, clawing at the IV connected to his wrists. “I’ll talk to him right now.”

“I’ll take you to him.”

“I’ll go there my goddamn self, thanks.”

“You can’t _walk_.”

“Whose fault is that?” Donghyuck shoots back.

Now the Flier sounds as pissed as Donghyuck. “Not mine, how many times do I have to—”

“Boys,” Doyoung sighs, “please. This is an Infirmary, not your personal battleground.”

Donghyuck shuts his mouth, though he’s still seething, though he still wants to lunge over the edge of the bed and sock the stupid, stupid Alpha in his face—

“Sorry, hyung.” The Flier rubs his temple. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t know...”

 _What didn’t you know?_ Donghyuck glares. _That the last thing I wanted from you was a Bond, that you should have just let me die if this was the alternative? Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?_

“I’m sorry, hyung,” he finishes lamely.

Dr. Kim shakes his head, as if to say, _It_ _’s okay_. “You shouldn’t keep the Captain waiting.”

“I know, I...” He hesitates, for the first time since he entered the room, and it reminds Donghyuck of the night they met, when the only really notable thing about him (besides his scent, not that Donghyuck gives fuck about that) was how gauche he is, how stiff. “I think I need to carry him, hyung—”

“Absolutely fucking not—”

Dr. Kim shakes his head, despairing. “I really am stuck in a preschool, aren't I?”

§§•§§

The Flier doesn’t carry him.

Donghyuck limps to Captain Kim’s office in the Flier Barracks resolutely and without remorse. He ignores the Flier walking beside him, although it’s admittedly harder to do so in such close proximity, when the thick, invisible rope between the two of them tightens like a noose. It’s also hard because he keeps making quiet, disgruntled noises in the back of his throat whenever Donghyuck winces or almost trips on a rock, but Donghyuck shrugs him off, persevering until they reach the door to Captain Kim’s office. It’s painted black, with a shiny, gold door knob.

Mark knocks on the door.

“Come in!”

They enter together.

Captain Kim is sitting in a battered chair behind a desk cluttered with snow globes, a worn copy of _The Art of War_ , a thin silver laptop, and piles of fluttering documents. There’s a clock on the wall behind him and a window with a view of Lake Sejeong. Donghyuck’s stomach twists when he catches sight of it and he has to look away—

—Right into the eyes of Captain Kim.

He’s a smaller man than Donghyuck remembers, with feline eyes and an expressive mouth, but he’s also solemn in a way that the Flier, Mark, isn’t—a bottomless, pensive look in his eyes. 

“Lee Donghyuck?” Captain Kim says.

Donghyuck nods, heart thundering in his chest.

“Sit down, please.”

After a moment’s pause, Donghyuck does as he asks.

Captain Kim cocks his head, as if he’s surprised that Donghyuck would obey so readily. “You’re lucky, Trainee Lee, that I stopped the nurse from gossiping about your Bond. If I hadn’t and word spread, you’d already be gone.”

Donghyuck flinches. Captain Kim doesn’t look like a stereotypical Alpha, but his authority is written in his ramrod stiff posture, in the cool intellect in his eyes, in the way his scent threads the room, stopping short of Donghyuck, as if there’s an invisible shield around Donghyuck. “Sir, I didn’t want this, I swear on my life _.”_

“That doesn’t matter. The rules don’t account for intention—”

“Maybe it’s time they did,” the Flier interrupts. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat, his hands curling around the desk as if he needs something to hold, to keep him at bay. 

Donghyuck blinks. _Is he…_

Captain Kim’s eyes flicker from Donghyuck to the Flier. “Careful. You just bonded and you’re not thinking clearly—”

“I am, hyung. It wasn’t his fault.”

 _It was yours,_ Donghyuck thinks, but his surprise dims the fires of his fury, if only by a little. The Flier isn’t supposed to be defending him. _Why are you pretending to be the hero now?_

“It’s not about fault.”

“It should be,” the Flier argues. “Why isn’t it, hyung?”

“Minhyung, please.”

_Minhyung? Why does that sound so—_

“Hyung, listen to me. Neither of us Imprinted on each other. We never set out to break the rules, either, but—”

“But they’re still broken, aren’t they? Perhaps for you, Minhyung, I could make an exception. You’re allowed to Mate with Omegas outside of Ludus, but Trainee Lee? He’s a Trainee, he’s not even allowed to date.”

“Sir,” Donghyuck says, snapping back to reality, “sir, I’m—I… I know I broke the rules. I know I’m not supposed to be,” he can’t say the word, can’t bring himself to even think it, "with him, but it won’t affect my performance, I swear. It won’t change anything. I don’t—we’re not _really_ together—”

Donghyuck’s chest aches, and he snaps his mouth shut, surprised.

“It hurt you to say that, didn’t it?” Before Donghyuck can lie and say no, Captain Kim draws his sleeve to his elbow. On his lower arm is a tattoo of a red crown jellyfish. “Bonds Marks aren’t decorations or symbols. They’re a manifestation of your connection—yes, both of you are connected, whether you want to be or not—and they come with their own array of unique side effects. Mine, for example, always tingles when my wife, Minsoo, finds a particularly exciting bioluminescent fish during one of her deep-sea dives. But it’s not always so pleasant—yours hurt you when you denied your bond with Minhyung. It will also hurt you when you stay away from him.”

“It doesn’t matter, sir. I won’t let it get in my way.”

Captain Kim’s lips quirk. “What about your Mate?” He looks at the Flier knowingly. “Minhyung, what would you do if another Alpha made a pass at Trainee Lee in your vicinity? Would you brush it off? Or would find yourself in the middle of an altercation?”

“He would’t do that.” Donghyuck swallows a gasp when his Bond Mark starts hurting again. “He wouldn’t…” His voice stutters as the pain turns oppressive.

“Well, Minhyung?” Captain Kim probes when Donghyuck doesn’t say anything. “I was asking _you_ , after all.”

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut. Anxiety coils inside of him: a hungry snake curling around a hare. Maybe _he’s_ the hare, maybe he’s caught in a snare, his limbs tangled in a mess of wires and steel jaws, his blood drawing the attention of an emerald-green snake. It will be so very hard to escape. He can’t… He can’t do it on his own. P _lease, just back me up on this—_

"Don't you have an answer for me, Minhyung?" 

_Please._

A hand, bumpy with callouses, touches his knee lightly. Donghyuck’s eyes fly open. The Flier rests his left hand on Donghyuck’s leg, and at first, Donghyuck wants to shrug off his touch, but then the Flier spares him a single, second-long glance, and the searing sensation in Donghyuck’s chest lulls into a soft warmth. He doesn’t know what exactly the Flier is thinking—and he doesn’t want to—but he knows what he’s _saying_ , as clearly as if the Flier had opened his mouth and said it: _Play along, Trainee Lee._

Donghyuck plays along.

He allows the Flier to rub his thumb over his knee in small, circular motions. He refuses to look disconcerted by the Flier’s touch. After all, isn’t that what they’re trying to convince Captain Kim of? That they won’t be affected by each other? That neither of them care about the other? That it won’t be difficult to ignore each other?

“Hyung—” The Flier’s voice is low but decisive “—that won’t happen, I promise. We’re both professionals. You can rely on us.”

Captain Kim leans back in his chair. “Can I, Minhyung?”

“You can,” Mark says, still brushing Donghyuck’s leg with his fingers, the motion regular and—Donghyuck hates to admit it—comforting, “and if… If I mess up, hyung, I swear on my brother’s life I’ll take full responsibility for it.”

 _So will I. I swear on my grandmother’s life. On Yuna’s life. On the twin’s life. On_ my _life—_

The clock ticks steadily. Time stretches and expands, until even the steady pressure on Donghyuck’s leg is not enough to distract him from his clammy hands, his ever-loud heart. Finally, Captain Kim nods to himself. His chair scrapes the wooden floor as he gets to his feet. “Very well, Flier Lee. Trainee Lee.” His voice is emotionless, but something dances in his eyes, and though Donghyuck can’t quite tell what it is, it most closely aligns with anticipation. (Though what, exactly, the Captain is anticipating, Donghyuck has no idea.) “You both have one chance, but only one. If being Bonded causes problems for either of you, or if it disrupts the general peace within Ludus, I _will_ consult with General Kwon about your future in Ludus. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Donghyuck replies as Mark says, “Yes, hyung, thank you.”

“Good.” Captain Kim waves his hand. “You’re both dismissed.”

And, just like that, their meeting with Kim Minseok is over.

§§•§§

Outside of Captain Kim’s office, the Flier stops Donghyuck from walking away with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll walk you back to your dorms.”

Donghyuck shrugs off his touch. “We promised to keep away from each other, remember?”

The Flier frowns. “That’s not exactly what—”

“Anyway,” says Donghyuck, turning around, ignoring the twinge in his chest, telling himself that it doesn’t matter, “it’s better not to risk it, don’t you think, sir?”

_Besides, I’m still mad at you._

From behind him, his voice loud and clear inside of Donghyuck’s head, like the first ring of a church bell, like the clearest echo on a mountainside, the Flier murmurs, “Call me Mark, please.”

 _No,_ Donghyuck thinks, throat closing up, although he doesn’t know why, _I’m afraid I can’t do that. Sir._

§§•§§

Yet, when Donghyuck leaves the Fliers’ Barracks and makes his way to the main building of Ludus, where all of the Trainees dormitories are, his chest burns, as if someone smeared a thin layer of oil over his Bond Mark and lit a match. He has to stop by a water fountain and splash water over his face, over his wrinkled Infirmary gown, hoping the water will cool his insides.

He’s afraid to stay at the fountain for long, though. It’s too close to the cafeteria’s bathroom, where Park Junghwa had found him after breakfast and—

_Keep moving, Donghyuck-ah._

Donghyuck listens to his grandmother’s voice. 

One step, then two, then three, and then so many more before, miraculously, he is knocking on the steel door of Bunk C4, his heart expanding like a child’s helium balloon.

The door swings open.

Before Donghyuck can prepare himself, a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders, and a warm body crushes him so tightly that he can barely breathe, and he has to choke out, “Stop it, you’re suffocating me— _Jeno_ —”

§§•§§

“We all came to visit you, Donghyuck-ah, but Dr. Kim sent us back when he found out we had dinner,” Heejin explains after she’s finished blubbering relieved tears into Donghyuck’s hair, “and so then we decided to steal some food for you when you came back.”

“It was _my_ idea,” Hyunjin says. She’s the only one who isn’t crying—even Donghyuck shed a tear or two, even though he’ll die before he admits it—but her smile is the brightest in the room. “Just saying.”

“It was your idea,” Heejin agrees, reaching out to scratch Hyunjin’s scalp. “I’m very proud of you, Hyunjin-ah.”

“I volunteered my quilt,” Jeno says hesitantly as Hyunjin starts hugging Heejin. He gestures at the makeshift picnic placed in the space between their two bunk beds. “But we _all_ wanted to surprise you, Donghyuck-ah.”

Stupidly, the first thing Donghyuck thinks is: _They all dropped honorifics._ The thought leaves a fuzzy feeling in his limbs. His second thought is: _All of this for me?_ Because the spread on Jeno’s quilt is a feast that would please even the wealthiest, fussiest king: There’s scallion pancakes, _japchae_ —a bouncy, textured glass noodle stir fry—sweet-and-spicy potstickers, fishcake balls, barbecue short ribs, marinated pork, roast pork, cucumber salad, and kimchi salad. Oh, and so much rice, Donghyuck isn’t sure if they’ll finish all of it. There’s even pitchers of ice-cold water and bottles of Coca-Cola and… and…

“Thanks,” Donghyuck says, voice hoarse, so hoarse it almost dies completely, “you guys—you guys didn’t have to. Really.”

“We wanted to,” Jeno says. “I’m really sorry we couldn’t help you today, Donghyuck-ah—”

“Shut up. Shut up right now.”

“Donghyuck—”

“Jeno,” Donghyuck says, dropping honorifics himself, “if you keep apologizing, I’m gonna stuff salad down your throat and you’ll choke. Do you want to die? Do you want to turn me into a killer?”

“Actually,” Hyunjin says, finally disentangling from Heejin, “I’m CPR-certified, so he probably wouldn’t die.”

Donghyuck huffs but yanks on Jeno’s arm so that they both end up sitting on the same side of the picnic quilt. Heejin and Hyunjin sit across from them. “Stop ruining my threats, Hyunjin.”

“But I don’t want Jeno to die.”

“Neither do I,” Jeno says.

“I, Jeon Heejin, third this opinion.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

Jeno’s eyes turn into little crescents and Hyunjin giggles, but Heejin only says, “Well, I don’t want you to die, either, Donghyuck-ah, and I know you haven’t eaten all day, so—” She starts passing out paper plates and forks and glasses. “—come on, guys, as the Alliance’s president—”

Hyunjin starts clapping.

Donghyuck joins in for moral support.

“—Thanks, guys.” Heejin pretend bows. “Anyway. As president, my first decree is that we have to finish all of this food. Pronto.”

Donghyuck isn’t one to ignore his president—at least, not if she’s Heejin—so he starts piling his plate with as much meat and rice as he possibly can.

“Can you eat all of that?” Jeno asks, astonished.

“Just watch, Lee.”

§§•§§

Donghyuck settles on his bed with a weary sigh. His stomach aches, but that’s his fault—he really should have stopped at his third serving of roast pork, but whatever. You live and you learn and sometimes you overeat.

“Donghyuck-ah?” Jeno mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have an extra quilt? Mine smells kinda fishy.”

Donghyuck doesn’t, but he lies and gives Jeno his quilt, anyway, because Jeno hadn’t brought up Lake Sejeong, or the way Park Junghwa caressed Donghyuck’s face, or the way Donghyuck had trembled like a scared, lost, hapless kid. And Donghyuck is suddenly so very grateful for him, for his tact, for the way he isn’t probing, not when Donghyuck is seconds from crumbling, as if the ground is about to dissolve any moment now.

(Not that Donghyuck will actually break. He can’t. He’s city born and country bred, made of clay and hardened into steel, and he’ll be _damned_ if he breaks. It’s just—he’s toeing the line right now, that’s all.)

Jeno doesn’t know any of that, though, and Donghyuck will never tell him, even if part of him wants to.

“G’night, Donghyuck,” Jeno says sleepily.

_Good night, Jeno-yah._

§§•§§

That night, Donghyuck dreams he’s in the plane again. Like before, it is destroyed. And like before, the boy, the scared one, falls. Except, this time, Donghyuck falls too, and lands into water so black it could be the night sky. The water is cold. The water is salty. The boy is silent.

Before he can drown, Donghyuck wakes up.

§§•§§

If Donghyuck’s more quiet than usual the next morning, no one brings it up. Jeno doesn’t even ask Donghyuck to shower with him—Donghyuck is grateful for this development, at least—and they head to the cafeteria for breakfast together.

“They’re gone?” Donghyuck asks, surprised when he enters the half-empty cafeteria.

“Only Trainees are required to eat at the Mess Hall,” Heejin explains. “Apparently, the Fliers, Pilots, and even the scientists and support personnel have their own private kitchens in their lodgings. I’m guessing they just showed up this week for appearances.”

“Did you hear that from Kim Taeyeon, too?” Hyunjin asks innocently.

Heejin splutters and Jeno starts laughing.

Donghyuck can’t quite hear them.

His Bond Mark has started prickling again. He doesn’t have to turn to the Fliers’ table to know what he’ll find—who he’ll find—but he does, anyway, giving in to an inextricable, unexplainable urge. He turns before he can stop himself, before he can listen to the calm, calculated voice in his head that always sounds like his grandmother. _He’s here._ The Flier is sitting at the high table, one of the only Fliers left, next to a girl with long, sandy brown hair; his head is bent as he eats, and he doesn’t look at Donghyuck, doesn’t make eye contact like before, but when Donghyuck heads past him, his shoulders tense and his grip on his utensils tightens, and Donghyuck wonders why he’s so fucking insufferable, always showing up when Donghyuck doesn’t expect him to, when he doesn’t have to, when he could just stay behind and mind his own goddamn business—

_I’ve only known you for a week, Christ._

“Donghyuck-ah?”

Donghyuck startles. “W—What?”

Jeno looks concerned, again. “I was asking you if it’d be okay if he ate with us.”

“Who’s he?” asks Donghyuck, not quite computing.

“Me,” someone says, “Na Jaemin. You’ve heard of me, haven’t you?”

 _Oh, Christ, not him._ “Can’t say I have,” Donghyuck drawls, hoping he sounds bored, even as his eyes flicker to Na Jaemin, the grandson of one of Korea’s most influential Head Generals. He’s lying, of course. Jaemin’s face is plastered everywhere in Korea, even in Jeju, where Donghyuck had lived with his grandmother, his twin brothers, and his sister. Na Jaemin, the young, beautiful, Alpha protégé of Lieutenant General Na and Choi Jiyoo, one of Korea’s most famous actresses, is the kind of heir that most families dream of having. “Have you done anything special?”

Unfortunately, Jaemin isn’t cowed. He smiles cockily and flicks his head in a way that screams that he knows how revered, how loved, he is. “I was in the top three in Seoul,” he says, arrogance oozing from his words, from his practiced slouch, from his relaxed, casual tone. “And I’m sure I’ll come in first or second in today’s rankings, don’t you?”

Donghyuck doesn’t allow himself to falter. He sees the challenge in Jaemin’s eyes and, suddenly, knows why he’s here, why he wants to eat together. Donghyuck fucked up at Lake Sejeong, and there’s no way around that, no way to salvage his record this week at least, but before that, he’d been on top, guaranteed a spot in the top two, at least. Jaemin had noticed. Of course he had. Donghyuck had done it on purpose, had made sure that everyone would notice him, that everyone—but the Alphas, especially—would know that he wasn’t here to lose.

“I was first,” Donghyuck says slowly, drawing out the words, enunciating each syllable, “in Incheon.”

“Impressive,” Jaemin says, “but I’ll beat you today, don’t you think?”

Donghyuck stiffens.

Jeno grabs Donghyuck’s hand. “Don’t listen to him. Jaemin-ssi doesn’t—He doesn’t mean it.”

Jaemin makes a pained face. “Must you be so formal, Jeno-yah?”

_Jeno-yah? The hell?_

“You two are close?” Donghyuck asks, rooted to his spot, even as he spots Heejin waving at him from the corner of his eye, already at their usual table.

Jeno shifts uncomfortably. “We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“We’ve been _friends_ for a long time,” Jaemin protests, sincerity seeping into his words for the first time. “Please, don’t try to deny that.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything.

Donghyuck watches him—watches the way he bows his head, not shaking exactly, not the way Donghyuck had by the lake, but certainly not looking like his usual steady self—and makes up his mind. “No,” he tells Jaemin.

“No?”

“No, I won’t let you eat with us.”

He hadn’t planned on saying yes to an Alpha to begin with, but whatever. It’s a double no now.

“But,” and for the first time, Jaemin’s composure breaks, two angry splotches of red appearing on his cheekbones, his words growing desperate, “but—Jeno-yah—”

He doesn’t _grab_ Jeno’s hand, only really grazes it, but Donghyuck sees Park Junghwa—sees his obsidian-eyed stare, the flash of his teeth, the triumphant smile on his marble-masked face—and he shoves Jaemin without thinking about what he’s doing—a very unfortunate habit, apparently—and bares his teeth.

“I said you’re not—”

Jaemin twists his hand away from Donghyuck’s grip, nimble like a sprite, and leans toward Donghyuck, and—

Donghyuck crumples, bent at the waist, as an angry fire blooms in the middle of his chest, and even if he’s not facing the Flier now, he knows the Flier is looking at him, staring again, and that his piercing eyes are narrowed and that he is, most likely, angry, even though Donghyuck has no idea _why the hell_ he is. “Stop,” Donghyuck mutters out loud, trying to project his feelings of frustration back into the wave of fire emitting from his Bond Mark, _I’ve got this handled—_

“You hit him?” Jeno asks, angry. “Jaemin!”

“I swear, I didn’t—please, don’t go!”

But Jeno is dragging Donghyuck away, to Heejin and Hyunjin, and Donghyuck’s Bond Mark is still smarting enough that he can’t quite feel smug about the confused, helpless look on Na Jaemin’s face. It doesn’t stop hurting until he’s in the company of Hyunjin and Heejin and they’re passing him cups of water. Donghyuck exhales, long and ragged and relieved, and gulps down the water.

“Are you okay, Donghyuck-ah?” Heejin asks, concerned.

“Do you want us to beat up that mean Alpha with our lunch trays?” asks Hyunjin. “I mean, are you okay?”

“I’m good,” Donghyuck says, closing his eyes, trying to find his point of balance again. “Promise.”

“Okay, but the offer is still valid,” says Hyunjin. “Just saying.”

Donghyuck smiles, despite himself, but when he opens his eyes again, that smile disappears. The Flier is in his periphery. He’s not sitting at the high table any more—he’s near a trashcan—and he’s not all that close to the Omegas, to Donghyuck, either, but Donghyuck can still smell him, which… must be another side effect of this—well, _thing_.

“Do you smell that?” Donghyuck asks just to make sure, his eyes glued to the Flier’s back.

“No?” Jeno says. “Oh, wait do you mean the pancakes? Ludus does American brunch on Sundays, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, standing up, "that’s what I meant.”

“Where are you going, Donghyuck-ah?”

“The bathroom,” Donghyuck says, forcing the words out.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s okay, Jeno-yah.” Donghyuck tries to give Jeno his most winning smile. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

§§•§§

As Donghyuck passes by the Flier, he throws the plastic cup Heejin had given him into the trashcan, and as he does this, he makes sure his index finger brushes against the Flier’s wrist. It’s an accident. To anyone watching, from any corner of the cafeteria, it’s nothing worth noting, but the Flier stiffens and Donghyuck swears that he can feel his hummingbird heartbeat through his Bond Mark. (Or maybe it’s his. He hopes it isn’t.)

“Coming?” Donghyuck murmurs, a whisper of a whisper, so soft that only the Flier could hear it.

§§•§§

The bathroom is empty, which is a relief, but when the Flier enters the room, Donghyuck beckons him into a stall, deciding that it’s best not to take any chances during situations this delicate. Unfortunately for Donghyuck, the stalls in Ludus are quite small—though, really, any stall would be for two grown-ass men—and his knees press against the Flier’s legs when he sits on the toilet. The Flier doesn’t seem to care, though. His eyes are stuck on Donghyuck, and if his staring made Donghyuck uncomfortable in the cafeteria, it’s downright _agonizing_ now, especially when paired with his profuse, penetrating smell. Donghyuck squirms.

“Are you okay?”

Donghyuck blinks. “I’m—yeah.”

“Okay,” the Flier says, shoulders slumping. He rubs his face. “That’s… That’s good.”

Donghyuck has to clamp his hands on his legs to stop them from moving. He almost wishes he were back in that Infirmary cot, so angry then that it almost killed him, just so he can stop feeling so jumpy, like there’s a bomb waiting for him at the end of each breath the Flier exhales. _I’ll survive,_ Donghyuck tells himself firmly. _I’ll survive him, so just—get on with it, self._

“Are you wearing blockers?”

The Flier looks perplexed. “I always do,” he says, turning over his wrists.

Donghyuck stares at his wrists and feels his mouth dry. There’s that maddening heat inside of him again, this time more collecting slowly than before, more languidly, like the air before a summer storm, when the humidity starts gathering in doses before spreading over the entire sky, a thick, suffocating, impenetrable layer of heat that promises a night filled with lightening. He hates that he wants it—the lightening, the heat, the promise of something dark and electric on the horizon—and he hates even more that he hadn’t even known he wanted it. It’s so instinctual it could be genetic.

“Donghyuck?” the Flier asks, the words uncertain on his tongue, on his lips, uncertain and hesitant, like a newborn ewe tottering on its legs for the first time, not even sure if it’s allowed to _live_ , much less to walk.

“Trainee Lee,” Donghyuck says when he can speak, when he can control himself. “It’s Trainee Lee to you, sir.”

A pause, like thunder. “I asked you to call me Mark.”

“I don’t want to.”

Another pause, longer and deeper. “Then why did you bring me here, Trainee Lee?”

“Because,” Donghyuck says, praying his chest won’t burn again, praying that he’ll be sure-tongued in his approach, “because… there’s something I need make clear.”

The Flier doesn’t speak. He just waits—silently, like the calm before the storm, when the animals are tucked away in their homes, when everything underneath the sun waits for the inevitable, when the quiet is so loud it is deafening—and it’s enough to make Donghyuck want to scream or squirm some more, but he doesn’t do any of these things, because he’s Lee Donghyuck: first son, first Omega, first in Incheon.

“You were waiting in the cafeteria for me, weren’t you? You noticed when I stepped inside. You noticed when I moved past you and you definitely noticed when Na Jaemin was being an ass.”

“I did,” the Flier says.

For once, he sounds sure of himself and it leaves Donghyuck uncertain of what to say, even though he had a plan before he came here. “Stop—stop doing that.” He takes a deep breath and clarifies, “We’re not supposed to be Bonded. I know you said you didn’t do anything, and to be honest, I still don’t believe you, but even if you didn’t at the time, you’re being impossible now. Do you know how much it affects me when you’re mad? I feel it and it hurts like a bitch, so either man up and stop being a pussy whenever you see someone hurting my feelings, or keep the hell away from me.”

By the time he finishes his spiel, he’s almost exhausted, until he has to lean back on the toilet, head tilted back, body sagging against the cold metal of the toilet.

“I can’t,” the Flier says, sounding as helpless as Donghyuck feels, like all of this is flying over his shoulders, too, “I can’t help but be mad whenever someone… Whenever someone looks like they’ll hurt you.”

Donghyuck fights to stop himself from flinching. “Then, like I said, keep the hell away.”

“I… I don’t… I don’t really think you’d want that, either.”

Donghyuck glares at him. “Fuck you.”

The Flier shrugs, but he doesn’t look smug, or conceited, doesn’t look like he’s happy that Donghyuck is so affected by him. He looks tired, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than they were in the Infirmary—and now that Donghyuck’s noticing, his skin is also sallower than before, like he isn’t eating properly, either.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” the Flier says quietly. “I meant—after the first rankings, what happens in Ludus is that—”

The door to the bathroom swings open with a slight creak. Almost immediately, the reek of scotch, of shoe polish, and of rough, untamed Alpha fills the room, pressing into all of its crevices, and Donghyuck shrinks back on the toilet, eyes closing without warning, his hands shaking, and memories crawling from the recesses of his brain to the forefront, replaying in his mind like a song stuck on the worst chords: a hand on his jaw, teeth on his bare shoulder, the most excruciating pain he’s ever felt in his entire life—

The Flier gingerly grasps his hand and Donghyuck’s eyes open and then, before he knows it, before he can even see who’s made the first move, his chest is pressed flush against the Flier’s and his nose is back in the crook of the Flier’s neck, like it had been the night they first met, when the Flier had carried him to the Infirmary. The Flier smells the same, like the forest, but somehow his scent is more reassuring this time, as if this is a forest free of beasts, containing only safety and shelter and the promise of abundance, of the spoils of summer, of the ripest, sweetest berries and the freshest water. On any other day, in any other moment, Donghyuck would never let himself sink into a smell this heady, this _Alpha_ , but this isn’t any other day or any other moment.

Park Junghwa is five feet away from him, and the only thing shielding Donghyuck from him is a two-inch door.

As if he knows all of this—although he couldn’t, because there is no one who truly knows what happened to Donghyuck other than Donghyuck—the Flier cards his hair through Donghyuck’s hair, the softest, most soothing touch Donghyuck has felt in a while. (Maybe in ever.)

The Flier dips his head down to Donghyuck’s ear and whispers, so softly that even Donghyuck has trouble hearing, “I’m going to sit us down on the toilet, you on my lap, so that he doesn’t notice. Okay?”

Donghyuck murmurs _yes_ into the Flier’s skin and hopes that the Flier can understand him. He can, apparently, because in a swift, smooth motion, the two of them are perched on the toilet, Donghyuck’s back to the door, his legs wrapped around the Flier’s waist, his chest still pressed against the Flier’s.

“It’s okay,” the Flier says, for Donghyuck’s ears only, “I’ve got you.”

Donghyuck’s heart doesn’t stop beating rapidly, and his fear doesn’t dissipate, but like this, their two Bond Marks align. And a distant part of Donghyuck realizes that sometimes, fire can stop fire, because instead of searing pain, his Bond Mark emits _warmth_ , as if he’s lying underneath the sun, the air filled with the sound of cicadas and the lingering aromas of jasmine, of honeysuckle, of freshly cut grass: a summer’s day, the kind of day where the sun touches everything you see and the sky is the clearest blue it has ever been before and you think that you could do anything if only you tried. Donghyuck collects those days like people collect pennies.

“Is he gone?” Donghyuck asks, voice weak.

The Flier runs a hand down his sides, as if he knows his touch is grounding Donghyuck. “Not yet.”

Fuck _._ Fuck _._

“It’s okay,” the Flier says again, this time his voice a quiet hum. “You’re with me.”

“You’re so annoying,” Donghyuck mumbles.

The Flier doesn’t laugh out loud, but Donghyuck feels the way his chest vibrates, almost purring. “Why?”

Donghyuck doesn’t trust himself to say anyone of the thoughts running in his mind, so he merely shakes his head, and noses at the Flier’s scent glands, breathing him in deeply, like a drowning man trying to breathe air—which he was just yesterday. This time, though, he doesn’t stop himself from drowning. He purposefully lets the Flier’s smell and his stupidly soft touch lull him into a land away from Ludus, from this bathroom, from Park Junghwa. (Tomorrow, he’ll hate himself for it. Tomorrow, he’ll hate the Flier for it. Today—)

“He’s gone,” the Flier says.

It takes Donghyuck several long, embarrassing moments before he realizes what the Flier’s said. In fact, he only really realizes it when the Flier disentangles himself from Donghyuck and Donghyuck inadvertently lets out the loudest, most embarrassing whimper of his life.

The Flier freezes, eyes widening. “Did you—”

“No,” Donghyuck hisses, red-faced, and shoves the Flier off of him. “I did _not_.”

The Flier lands in an awkward heap next to the toilet, his limbs askew, but he doesn’t even look angry. He has a disconcerted look in his eyes, as if he can’t just believe what he’d heard, and well, to be fair, and Donghyuck can’t believe he’d made that sound, either. “Are you sure—”

“Abso-fucking-lutely."

“You’re blushing—”

“You’re blind. I’m not doing anything.”

“Donghyuck—”

“Trainee Lee,” Donghyuck says. “It’s Trainee Lee.”

The Flier gets to his feet and, judging by the veins in his neck—which always protrude slightly when he’s pissed, something Donghyuck may or may not have picked up on in the Infirmary, during their last screaming match—he’s mad, at least a little. “After all of that,” he says, “after _all of that_ , you still won’t let me call you by your name?”

“Correct.”

“You’re impossible.” The Flier shakes his head. “I—I can’t believe you.”

“What?” Donghyuck asks, finding that particular vein of anger that numbs all of his other emotions, that makes being around an Alpha like Mark Lee a little more bearable. “Were you helping me for brownie points, asshole? Did you think I’d suck your cock if you hugged me for a bit?”

“Don’t _say_ that,” the Flier says, visibly struggling.

Donghyuck feigns innocence. “Should I say dick, instead? Or would you prefer penis—”

“ _Stop_. I just want you to say my name. Don’t make it out like I want you to—to do anything else.”

“What if I don’t believe you?” asks Donghyuck. “What if I think you want to do a lot of things to me, sir?”

The Flier swallows. Donghyuck expects him to scream or to be flustered, or perhaps a combination of the two. Instead, his voice turns resolute, as if he’s sure of himself, as if he believes in what he’s saying, which is, “I don’t want to do anything to you, at all. Trust me on that.”

Donghyuck looks away. _Fuck you, asshole._ “Fine. Whatever.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Standing up, Donghyuck unlocks the door. “I don’t care.”

“What do you mean, you don’t—”

Donghyuck steps out and heads out of the bathroom.

“Dongh—Trainee Lee, wait!”

Maybe it’s because Donghyuck’s legs are still cramped from sitting down for so long, but the Flier manages to catch up to him quickly. He stops in front of Donghyuck, preventing him from moving with a hand to his chest that Donghyuck thinks very carefully about biting off.

“We still haven’t talked,” the Flier says, “about… about what we should do.”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I make myself clear? Leave me alone.”

“I don’t think I can,” the Flier says, all of his prior anger leaving him, traveling to a faraway place. “If I’m being honest, I don’t think you can afford to, either. Not after what I just saw.”

“That was a one-time thing,” Donghyuck says, lying through his teeth.

The Flier doesn’t look convinced.

“It _was_.”

“I was at the lake.”

“Listen,” Donghyuck says, needing to quell this—this concern, once and for all, “that’s just how Trainers are. And Junghwa’s a pro. At Incheon, if we ever overslept, we cleaned the floors with a toothbrush. If we spent too much time at dinner, we didn’t eat for three days. If we were behind on our timed runs, we wore chains around our legs for the next one. It’s nothing new, and I wasn’t the only one he picked on, either.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not—”

“Even if everyone else does it, it’s still wrong, so why are you trying to pretend like it’s not?”

“I’m not,” Donghyuck says, but the Flier’s brutal, unabashed honesty is tearing through his bluster and he can only reply, like a ruined record player, “I’m _not_.”

“You are and it’s—”

“It’s what?”

The Flier shakes his head. “Nothing, I just—that’s not even what I was talking about.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs bitterly. “You always distract me, Trainee Lee.”

There are a lot of ways Donghyuck can spin that statement, a lot of ways he can use it against the Flier, making him blush or making him scowl or maybe even, if Donghyuck is particularly inclined to do so, making him cry. If there’s anything Donghyuck’s learned from Park Junghwa—or perhaps he even knew all of this before him—it’s how to use people’s words against them, how to confuse them, how to spin everything they say into another battle he can win. He’s _good_ at it. He excels at it, even. But he doesn’t do that right now, even though he can, because he wants to know what the hell the Flier is talking about.

“After the first rankings are announced,” the Flier says, going back to what he was about to say before Junghwa entered the bathroom, “the Trainees who need it the most,” _who place last,_ Donghyuck translates, “are given the chance to be tutored by seasoned professionals at Ludus. Some of my hyungs have participated before, but this year, I thought… I thought it would be a good idea to volunteer, too.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck says.

“If you—if you want to—”

“I’ll think about it.”

The Flier searches his face for something, although Donghyuck has no idea what that thing is, but then his hand falls from Donghyuck’s chest and he nods uncertainly. “I’ll be on the roof,” he says, “before sunset. Just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so:
> 
> 1) the flier next to mark is an aged up kim lip bc i just had to include her, she's my LOVE  
> 2) the minhyung in the dream in the beginning is THE minhyung, yes. it's also not a dream, it's more like a memory that donghyuck keeps walking into.  
> 3) sparring at a roof during sunset?? more accidental touching??? is this where the next chap is heading? PERHAPS
> 
> (also, as always, pls tell me how you feel! comments are the life force of an author, honestly)


	4. i.iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's almost dawn and i'm incredibly tired so the later half of this is mostly unedited, pls accept my condolences

Mark doesn’t go back to breakfast.

There’s no point. He knows the rankings already; the Directors had been discussing them amongst themselves at the high table. All of the Omegas except for Trainee Lee placed in the top twenty—one, a girl named Heejin, made it to seventh place—and, quite frankly, Mark doesn’t want to see the look of disappointment on the Omega’s face when he realizes that he fell behind all of his friends. Mark doesn’t want to hear the murmurs in the room, either; Ludus is cutthroat, and he’s long since accepted it, but he’s never been too fond of the judgement that falls after a poor performance, like the clean swish of a guillotine blade during an execution.

Instead, Mark heads to one of the storage buildings located behind the main building of Ludus. It was meant to hold medical supplies with a short lifespan, like Sterocil, but when the HVAC system broke down, the Council decided to update the Infirmary instead and let the buildings fall into complete disarray. They remained unused until Kim Doyoung rolled into Ludus almost two years ago, fresh out of residency and brimming with more ambition than Mark had ever seen in the previous Head Doctor.

Doyoung paid someone to convert the smallest storage building into a cozy home so that he could be at the Base at all times, instead of shuffling to and from the nearest nearby town, Gwonhyung. Mark doesn’t see the point, because Doyoung doesn’t spend most of his time in his makeshift apartment, anyway, choosing instead to work, sleep, eat, and probably, one day, die in the Infirmary.

Except for Sunday mornings, of course. Doyoung takes his Sunday mornings very seriously, for reasons still unknown to Mark, and spends them at home, which is why Mark is currently knocking on his door, knowing that the doctor will respond in five, four, three—

“Mark?”

“Oh,” Mark says. “You’re early.”

“I’m not on call.”

 _That’s not what I—never mind._ Mark stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hyung,” he says, hesitant, “I know this is your day off, but—”

Before Mark can even finish his sentence, Doyoung is ushering him inside his home, all-white except for pale, periwinkle colored curtains and green, leafy plants that hang from the ceiling. Doyoung pushes him down on an armchair and returns with a tray cluttered with porcelain teacups, a teapot, and citrus-scented teabags.

Mark blinks. “Were you expecting me?”

Doyoung busies himself with preparing the tea. He gives a teacup to Mark, then settles back on the couch, directly facing Mark, and crosses his legs. “Of course, Mark. I knew you’d come running to me sometime this week.”

“Then you know why I’m here?”

“You have questions about your Mate, right?”

Mark winces. “He’s not—”

“He is, if you’re Bonded, and you are.”

Mark can’t deny _that_. There’s a damned Bond Mark on his chest, after all, the silhouette of a lion inside of a sun. What he doesn’t understand is why this happened, and if there’s any one that can answer his questions, it’s Kim Doyoung, a certified genius, one of the youngest Head Doctors in all of Korea. “But I never had sex with him,” he says, trying not to blush, “I’ve never even kissed him, hyung. We’re not supposed to be mates.”

Doyoung takes a sip of his tea. He doesn’t look stressed, not like Mark, but rather, intrigued, as if he’s stumbled upon the words most interesting crossword puzzle and he’s currently attempting to figure out how to solve it. “I have my speculations.”

“Which are?”

“Before I tell you, I want to know something about you.”

“Um.” Mark scratches his neck. “Shoot.”

“When did you present?”

“Like, two years ago?”

“So you were eighteen?”

“Um, yeah. I think.”

“How many ruts have you had?”

Mark’s cheeks warm. He knows all of the blood in his body has rushed to them, and he squeaks out, deeply mortified, “ _Hyung._ ”

“Mark,” Doyoung says, in his ‘I’m a doctor’ voice, “there’s no need to be embarrassed. This is all biology for me. Besides, I can’t legally tell anyone anything you say, anyway, because of patient privacy regulations.”

“Um. Well.” Mark can’t look at Doyoung, and focuses his attention on a particularly interesting speck of dust on the shaggy carpet. “I had… I went through my first one and then I started using suppressants and blockers, so—”

“You use rut suppressants?” Doyoung asks, surprised.

“I mean, yeah. Like.” Mark’s blush isn’t fading any time soon. “It’s easier this way.”

“So, not only did you present late, but you went through your rut only once, on your own—”

_Well, not exactly._

“—and I’m guessing that you haven’t dated before, either?”

Mark shakes his head.

“Oh good Lord, Mark. This is even worse than I thought.”

“I know,” Mark says, face and ears and chest burning. He wishes he could go back to the time where his only major problems were whether Captain Kim would let him go on an expedition, or whether his Navi was going to respond to his commands, or whether he was going to die fighting the Acra. It was all so much simpler when it was only him, his squadron, and a two-ton, demonic beast from the Pacific Ocean. “I don’t know what to do hyung, I’m so confused. Donghyuck—I mean, Trainee Lee—thinks I did this to him on purpose, and I didn’t, obviously, I would never, but I don’t even know how this happened to begin with.”

“Well, before I save your prodigal ass, I’m going to need you to drink your tea and calm down.”

Mark doesn’t really like anything fruit-flavored that isn’t an actual fruit, and he isn’t a fan of tea either, but Doyoung is scary when Mark doesn’t listen to him, so Mark sips the lemon-flavored tea and tries his best to remain calm and analytical, to separate his emotions from the facts, like he’s been programmed to do in battle. It’s hard, though, when he doesn’t even know what the facts are.

Doyoung waits until he’s almost done with his tea before he says, “Your situation isn’t unheard of.”

Looking up, Mark says, “It’s not?”

“No, it’s just incredibly uncommon. Typically, an Alpha bites the Omega first, claiming the Omega, and then, when they have sex for the first time, they become Mated. You, however, skipped both of these steps, inadvertently or not, and have Bonded with Trainee Lee, something that typically only happens when a Mated couple has been together for a very long time.” Doyoung hesitates and then shakes his head, saying, “I’m guessing all of this feels like it was out of your control.”

That’s a good way to put it. Once Mark’s post-Bond haze had lifted, he had remembered what had happened on the shore, how the Bond had, seemingly out of nowhere, appeared on the Trainee’s chest, like an invisible artist started painting him. There had been fire and heat and honey when he had licked his lips. Everything had been too bright and too much and not enough all at the same time. And it all happened before he could even think of what to do next.

“Bonds,” Doyoung says after Mark says nothing, his words delicate, like the tinkling of the piano, as if he wants to make his words prettier for Mark’s sake, “are curious things. No one really knows why the exist, or how they developed. Some people think they’re about love, but—”

 _But I don’t love him,_ Mark thinks. He doesn’t know Donghyuck, and love is about knowing someone, all of them, the good and the ugly, and loving them despite everything. At least, that’s what he thinks it’s about.

“—I think they’re about necessity. All of the stories I’ve heard of where Bonds happened before Mating took place during life-or-death situations, much like Trainee Lee’s near-death experience at the lake.”

“You think it’s because I saved him?” asks Mark, only partly incredulous.

“I think,” Doyoung says, kind but not pitying, “that your Alpha and his Omega decided in the moment he was about to die that they needed each other.” Suddenly, as if on a whim, Doyoung gets up and kneels in front of Mark, pressing his palms on Mark’s knees, his eyes shining with brotherly affection. “It doesn’t have to a be a bad thing, Mark. Many of the stories I’ve heard have happy endings. It could end up beautifully, if you both tried.”

§§•§§

After Mark leaves Doyoung’s house, carrying a basket of assorted teas, courtesy of the doctor, he heads toward the only place in Ludus outside of the training rooms that can properly distract him until sunset: the briefing room. It’s where all of Ludus’ trained soldiers converge after missions. As long as the information isn’t strictly classified, they’re allowed to share it in the briefing room, using each other to bounce off ideas or to strategize about future missions or, sometimes, when something goes terribly wrong, to gain a little bit of moral support.

When Mark enters the briefing room, he finds Captain Kim sitting at the conference table with Bae Joohyun, a three-star Pilot and leader of her own, all-Alpha team of Pilots. Joohyun isn’t a cargo pilot—which is to say, she doesn’t carry Fliers to and from missions and she doesn’t assist in shipping relief to disaster zones, either—but is a bomber, tasked with sealing some of the smaller Rifts in the Pacific.

“…Not working,” Joohyun is saying to Captain Kim. “We’re not making any headway.”

“Headway in what?” Mark asks before he can stop himself.

They both turn to him and Mark bows quickly. Joohyun nods her head, but Captain Kim waves a hand toward the table, so Mark hurries over and sits beside his Captain, pleased at how easily he was given access to one of their meetings.

“You know the Rift in the South China Sea?” Joohyun asks Mark. Her face is devoid of emotion, but her voice is flat, almost frustrated.

“Yeah,” Mark replies, “I’ve been there a few times.”

“How recently?”

Mark hesitates. “Eight months ago.”

“Well, it looks a lot different now than it used to.” Joohyun drums her fingers on the table. “It’s splintered into two different Rifts.”

“What?”

“Here, I’ll show you,” Captain Kim says, and stands up. He heads toward the end of the conference table, and turns on the projector. A holographic map appears above the table. After Captain Kim waves his hand, the projection shifts rapidly, from a map of the world to a photograph of the South China Sea. “This is where the new Rift is theorized to be,” he tells Mark.

“Do you see the purple shit on the waves?” Joohyun says. “It’s a sign that the Rift is somewhere underneath the surface of the water.”

Mark moves closer, straining to see what Joohyun’s talking about and when he does, his breath catches in his throat. He’s seen the 'purple shit'before. It’s like a congealed mold of some sort and it grows inside of the Rift, but it’s also known to float on top of the ocean. As he watches it, the mold wiggles and, like bacteria coming together to form colonies, it starts connecting with itself, forming a raft like structure on top of the waves. “Does it always do that?”

“If the Rift is big enough.”

“It looks _sentient_.”

Joohyun frowns. She’s one of the best bombers in the country, good enough to be recognized internationally, and her strength originates from the way that very little can faze her, but right now she looks _troubled_ and, truthfully, a little nervous. “I don’t know. I really don’t know any more.”

“I do,” Mark replies a little uncertainly. When Captain Kim shoots him a questioning look, he corrects himself. “At least, I think I do.”

Joohyun crosses her arms. “Well?”

“I think,” Mark says quietly, stomach churning, “it’s time for another recon mission.”

§§•§§

If the briefing room distracts Mark, the rooftop of Ludus—a fusion of the sloped roofs of ancient temples and the flat roofs of modern-day buildings in Korea—calms him. (And right now, he needs calm.) He heads to his favorite spot: a small alcove sheltered by three walls, which hides him from the view of both the security cameras and any passerby walking below him. It’s the perfect place to drink in the view of the setting sun, which, during these waning autumn months, transforms the sky into a rippling curtain of magenta and marmalade. If Mark’s honest with himself, he doesn’t expect to find anyone waiting for him, but as he rounds the corner, his Bond Mark tugs a little, like someone wrapped a rope around his waist and is pulling it.

“You’re late,” Donghyuck—Trainee Lee—says. He’s standing at the edge of the roof, illuminated by the sun, and is holding a cigarette like a rose. “I expected better from you, sir.” 

Mark swallows, half irritated and half intrigued, despite everything. It’s hard not to be when, in the late evening light, the Trainee’s face is washed in a sheen of gold, the setting sun accentuating the curve of his nose, the sweet plumpness of his lips and his cheeks. There are a lot of things Mark wants to say to him, like _don’t talk to me like that_ or _did you forget I held you this morning_ or _don’t stop smoking, it’ll kill you_ , but instead, he says, voice reedier than usual, “I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“What, you thought I was a coward?”

 _Why do you always take everything I say in the worst possible light?_ Mark crosses his arms, remembering how confrontational he was this morning, when Mark had only meant to… had only wanted to…help. “I didn’t say that,” Mark says. “I don’t think you’re a coward.”

“Do you think I’m incompetent?”

Mark hadn’t been expecting the question. He flounders trying to answer it, which he immediately realizes isn’t the right thing to do, because the Trainee’s face darkens, some of his shimmering beauty dimming. “I—no. No, of course not.”

“You hesitated,” the Trainee accuses.

“I didn’t—”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You _are_.”

“Please,” Mark says, equal parts exasperated and desperate, “give me a chance to answer before you jump to conclusions.” If possible, the Omega’s face darkens even more, his eyes narrowing, and Mark continues hurriedly, trying to fix this ever-growing mess, “Ever since you won that race, I knew you were good—really good, better than most of them, to be honest—and I… Well, I wouldn’t have offered to help train you if I didn’t think you could do well.”

“Do you really think that?”

This time, Mark’s ready. “Yes,” he says and means it with every vein and vessel of his being. “I think… I think you beat them all, if you tried.”

Mark wants to see the Trainee’s face, but the Trainee bends his head, as if he has made it his life's sole purpose to deny Mark everything he desires. “Even if you do mean that,” he says, his anxiety washing over their shared bond, “I still don’t understand why you offered to help me. Is it because you feel guilty?”

“About…About what?” Mark asks, confused.

“Don’t play dumb, sir.”

Mark sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not playing dumb,” he replies. _I just am dumb about Omegas in general but especially about you, so please, please for the love of all that is good and holy in this world, try and make this easy for me._ “I don’t… I don’t have any ulterior motives, if that’s what you’re asking. You can… You can trust me.”

_Please trust me. It will be easier for the both of us._

“I don’t trust Alphas,” he replies, sneering, “and especially not Alphas like you.”

Like him? Why? Mark tries not to let the hurt bleed through his words when he says, “Then what do you trust, Don—Trainee Lee?”

“Combat.” The Trainee raises his head, finally, and his eyes are gloriously dry. He looks like an ancient warrior come to life, sheathed in gold and dressed in silk, like he was born destined to great things. Like a habit, he takes Mark’s breath away. “I trust in ultimatums, too. Let’s fight, right here and right now, and if I win—you’ll do whatever I ask.”

_And you’ll ask me to leave you alone, won’t you?_

Some of the glimmer dies. Mark swallows, hard, and finds his balance, like he always does when he feels dizzy. The Trainee may be clothed in the sun’s embrace, he may be so beautiful it leaves a peculiar ache in Mark’s chest, right in the center of his Bond Mark, but Mark is a soldier before he is anything else. He’s a good soldier, too, one of the best, maybe one day he’ll be _the_ best, and he doesn’t like to lose to anyone, much less a Trainee with daggers for a mouth, much less a Trainee he is Bonded to, a Trainee who is his Mate, whether either of them like it or not.

“And if I win,” Mark says, rising to the challenge, like he always does, “then I want you to call me by my name and let me call you by yours. Does that work for you, Trainee Lee, or should I be nicer to you?”

The Trainee’s eyes flash. “I don’t need your kindness.”

 _Good,_ thinks Mark, his blood already singing of battle, _because I don’t plan on giving it._

§§•§§

Trainee Lee—Mark has to think of him as Trainee Lee, even if he itches to call him by his true name, his first name—pinches his cigarette in between his fingers before placing it on the ground beside him, like an offering to a god. Briefly, Mark wonders if he believes in God, like Mark does, or if he believes in nothing, or if he’s somewhere in the middle, uncertain about anything. _I don’t really know anything about you,_ Mark thinks as he stalks toward the center of their little patch of roof, rolling his sleeves to his forearms, _but I wish I did. Maybe then I wouldn’t piss you off as much I do now._

“Ready?” The Trainee asks, drawling and low, words dripping with honey.

Mark squares his shoulders. “If you are.”

The first kick Mark barely sees coming. It’s efficient and graceful, like a ballerina’s pirouette, and Mark has to bend his head to dodge it. The air around him whishes before settling down. Mark’s heart races. When he cranes his head up, he sees Trainee Lee inches away from him, his leg still held aloft, an imperceptible look in his eyes.

“Nice try,” Mark says.

“I wasn’t really trying.”

 _Arrogant, so arrogant, aren’t you?_ Mark lifts his head. “Maybe you should be.”

The Trainee shrugs, careless. “Your move, sir.”

This isn’t how real fights work, Mark wants to say. In a real fight, there’s much less talking and much more moving. You don’t tell your opponent to take the next move; you either wait, biding your time, or you strike first. But, for some reason, Mark doesn’t find himself minding the banter as much as he should be—strangely enough, he likes it. (Or maybe he just likes the way he can keep on looking at the Trainee, observing him as if he’s an oil painting, all rich colors and smooth lines, so effortlessly ephemeral during dusk.)

“What if I want to wait?” Mark asks, wanting to keep the conversation going. “What then?”

Mark expects Trainee Lee to try another kick, or perhaps a punch, but he doesn’t move. His voice is cold, icy even, when he whispers, “Then I’d say you were a coward, Mark Lee.”

Maybe it’s the way he says Mark’s name. (Like a curse.) Maybe it’s the fact that he says Mark’s name at all, or maybe it’s the way he looks when he says it, as if he doesn’t believe that Mark is capable of winning. Maybe it’s none of these things or all of these things or a strange mixture of them, but Mark finds himself springing to action, the tension in his body unleashing like an uncoiled spring. He doesn’t lunge. He leaps. One second, his feet are off of the ground. The next, he touches concrete again, and his hands rip through the air—

Straight into the arms of Trainee Lee.

The Trainee grips Mark’s arm in both of his hands, as if he’s trying to cast a net, and Mark hisses. He’s strong. Stronger than he looks.

“You’re so predictable,” the Trainee says, sounding faintly amused, his breath caressing Mark’s face, "but then again, you _are_ an Alpha.”

His eyes are fixated on Mark’s, and there’s a tint of red in his cheeks, as if he already believes he’s won. Part of Mark just wants to drink in the sight of him, of his unnerving loveliness, but most of him wants to _win_ , if only to prove that he can. “Careful,” Mark warns him, but the Trainee only scoffs, still clutching Mark’s hands.

“About what? You can’t even move your hands.”

Too bad he doesn’t realize those aren’t Mark’s only weapons.

Mark lunges straight into the Trainee. The Trainee’s eyes widen midway, but even his flexibility and speed aren’t enough to stop gravity, to stop the laws of physics from pushing Mark in his direction like a boulder tumbling down a mountain. 

They collide.

They fall, the Trainee still gripping Mark stubbornly, but Mark doesn’t bother pulling away. Let him hold onto Mark if he wants—Mark doesn’t mind. 

It makes the next part of his strategy easier.

“What are you doing?” Trainee Lee hisses when he realizes Mark isn’t even attempting to ward him off. “What—”

Mark wraps his legs around the Trainee’s waist, preventing him from getting up. The Trainee kicks again, and his foot makes purchase with Mark’s knee. Mark winces, but doesn’t let him go, knowing that if he does, the Trainee will quickly gain the upper hand. His strengths, from what Mark has seen at least, lie predominantly in using his long limbs to build enough momentum before he strikes. He’s like a viper, relying on the efficiency and agility of his body instead of on sheer, brute strength. It’s a clever way of fighting—elegant, too—but while it can be hard counter, it’s by no means unstoppable, not if Mark can pin him on the ground and keep him there, preventing him from using his most valuable skillsets.

“Let me go,” Trainee Lee says, his fury making his words tremble.

Mark’s chest burns and burns and burns. He uses his lower body strength—his thighs quiver from the effort—to tug the Trainee closer to him. Their hands are still intertwined. The Trainee knows this and judging by the way he’s squeezing—so hard Mark might end up with a fracture—he plans on using this to his advantage. “Let me call you by your name,” Mark replies, and he means to sound firm, but it’s taking all of his strength to keep the Trainee at bay and his voice is becoming breathier by the seconds, “and I will.”

The Trainee’s face contorts into a scowl so full of rage it almost makes Mark afraid. “Why? Why the hell is that so important to you?”

There are a lot of ways Mark can respond. The real answer, if he’s brave enough to share it, has very little to do with the Trainee and a whole lot more to do with Mark’s mother and the way his father never called her. Over time, she withered, like a flower without roots. Mark had watched as her petals fell and her light faded and he had made a promise to her and to himself: _I will never do that._ To him, names matter, especially first names, because those are special, those are a part of your identity, those deserve to be thought and said out loud, brought to life by someone else’s voice. He thinks about telling Trainee Lee all of this, but the thought is fleeting and ridiculous. They don’t know each other. They won’t ever truly know each other, but shouldn’t they at least say each other’s names?

“Because,” Mark says, still perched nearly on top of Trainee Lee, so close he can feel the Trainee’s body heat radiating off of him, “we should try, don’t you think? We should try to make this work.”

“Why? I don’t like you, Lee, and I know you don’t like me, either.”

“That’s not true.”

“As if.”

 _But I’m not lying, Lee Donghyuck. I don’t dislike you, you know. Not after this morning in the bathroom. Not when you race like the wind, not when I want to beat you so very, very badly._ “You’re too talented for me not to like you,” Mark says and means every word. “I meant it when I said I thought you could win. You’re—you’re—” _I wish I had the right words._ “—I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”

If there was a tint of red on the Trainee’s cheeks before, now his entire face is pink. He’s biting on his bottom lip, his anger turning into embarrassment. So, this is what disarms him, after all: the truth, whole and unfiltered and sincere. “You still haven’t won,” the Trainee says finally, when he realizes Mark is waiting and will stay waiting until he speaks. “I haven’t acceded.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh,” Trainee Lee says, and he does something Mark hadn’t expected. He releases Mark’s hands.

It takes several moments for Mark to process what’s just happened. In the time that it does, Trainee Lee does something else which Mark doesn’t anticipate him doing. He leans forward, until he’s sitting on top of Mark’s thighs, his body warm and heavy on top of Mark, and he rests his fingers on Mark’s shoulders. Mark is reminded of the morning in the toilet stall, when the Trainee had pressed his face into Mark’s neck, scared and vulnerable, and Mark had wanted to help him. Only to help him. Except this time, the Trainee isn’t hiding his face—this time, Mark can bask in his thick eyelashes, in his faint, brown freckles, in his cute, round nose, and in the way his eyes flutter shut, like a butterfly’s wings closing for the first time; and instead of a golden warrior or a striking viper, he looks like a boy painted in the colors of the setting sun: hesitant and afraid and so very human.

“Donghyuck—”

“Shh,” Trainee Lee says softly. “Like I said, you haven’t won yet.”

_What are you talking about? I’ve got you here in my grip, I could flip you over in seconds… I could… I could…Oh—_

Mark’s eyes fall shut. He doesn’t mean for them to do that, but it feels right so he doesn’t open them. He does let out a little gasp, though, when a pair of lips graze his, tentative and soft. They’re very smooth and they feel very nice on Mark’s lips, very nice indeed, which is why he doesn’t move away when the kiss deepens. In fact, a distant part of Mark registers, it might even be him who is deepening the kiss, pressing even more closely against the Trainee until he can smell the sweat on his skin and the honeysuckle in his weak scent. Mark wonders what he tastes like, what lies beneath his lips and underneath his tongue: honey or honeysuckle? Suddenly, this is something he wants to know desperately—like _right now_ —so he nips at the Trainee’s lips, wanting him to open his mouth, wanting to lick inside of him, wanting to swallow his tiny, stifled whimpers and—

The pressure on Mark’s lips disappears. He grimaces, disoriented and more than a little disappointed, as if he’d been seconds from uncovering a secret only known to—to—

_How many people has he been with?_

“You’re so easy,” Donghyuck says, and he’s Donghyuck now, not Trainee Lee, not after he kissed Mark like that, “for an Alpha.”

“What?”

“Open your eyes, Mark Lee.”

Mark does as he asks. The sun has finally set and the sky is tinged with purple the color of a bruise. Donghyuck is still sitting on his lap and he still smells like honeysuckle and sweat, but his mouth is curled into a smirk and his hands have moved from Mark’s shoulders to his… Oh.

_Oh._

“Checkmate,” Donghyuck coos, keeping his fingers wrapped around Mark’s neck in a loose chokehold. “I win.”

§§•§§

“You cheated,” Mark says, disgruntled.

He’s sitting on the edge of their little alcove next to Donghyuck, his legs dangling off of the roof. Night has finally appeared in all of its inky black glory, and the bright white stars speckled across its endless canvas look like the freckles on Donghyuck’s face. His irritatingly smug face.

“No,” Donghyuck says, almost cheerfully, his win sweetening his countenance, if only temporarily, “I just used the numerous gifts nature’s given me to my advantage.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?”

“I can afford to be since I won.”

Mark sighs, long-suffering. “I think I liked you better when you were pissed off.”

“I thought you liked me because I was ‘too talented for you not to like’ or something.”

“Yeah,” Mark says, his words sinking into the night, “that too.”

The truth is, Mark really likes him best when he’s sitting on Mark’s lap, kissing him, but that’s a dangerous thought, a thought he already knows will bring problems down the line. And, well. Mark already has enough to deal with, especially after what he saw in the debriefing room. There’s a war going on outside of Ludus, a war that is beginning to seem insurmountable, and there is only so much time and energy Mark can afford giving this Bond. Doyoung said accidental Bonds could be beautiful and maybe they can be, in these stolen moments on a rooftop during nightfall, but Mark is a soldier first and foremost and soldiers have to give up on things like beauty if they want to win a war. Besides, a kiss meant to win a battle isn’t a real kiss at all.

“I still lost, though.”

Mark looks at him, surprised. “What happened at the lake wasn’t your fault.”

Donghyuck juts out his chin, his good humor evaporating as suddenly as it had appeared. “It was, though, Mark. I’m not a good swimmer and it screwed me over.”

_He said my name. Just my name._

Mark hides a smile behind his hand, because he shouldn’t—he shouldn’t be this happy over a name. “I wasn’t, either, before I first came to Ludus,” Mark confesses once he’s regained control over himself. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but it’s dark out and the breeze is cool on his face. This is the time when time doesn’t exist—when the world is tranquil and the troubles of tomorrow remain hidden on the horizon. “My brother had to hold my legs in the water for me for months before I got the hang of it. It took forever for me to learn, but I think that’s because I was always scared that, if he let go, I would drown.”

Donghyuck listens, but he doesn’t ask questions, which Mark appreciates. Most people in his life ask questions or they offer condolences, but there’s only so much of either that Mark can take before he wants to run away and hide. Mark wishes there was a full moon tonight, instead of a crescent, because he wants to see Donghyuck’s face a little better, but oh well.

_I can’t have everything, can I?_

“What are you thinking?” Mark asks, because even if he can’t see Donghyuck, at least he can hear him.

For a second, Mark doesn’t think Donghyuck will answer, but when he does, he is more honest than he has ever been before. Maybe he, too, has been seduced by the quiet night. “It was easy beating everyone at Incheon,” Donghyuck says slowly, almost nervously. “I had enough anger to fuel me for days. Here, though—I think… I think I’ll need more than that.” Mark can’t see his face, but he can see the way his Adam’s Apple wobbles when he swallows. “I can’t afford to drown again, Mark.”

“You won’t have to. I can help you.”

“For what price?”

“I don’t charge.”

“Everyone does.”

“Not me.”

Donghyuck exhales noisily. “No, you just carry them to hospitals and hold them in bathroom stalls, is that it?”

Mark can’t help but grin. “Mostly.” 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “You’re the worst.”

 _No,_ Mark wants to say, _it’s you who’s the worst, Lee Donghyuck._ “I’ll help you when you need it, seriously,” Mark says. He hesitates. “To be honest, I didn’t volunteer so I could help just anyone, you know. I want it to be you.”

“Stop it, Mark.”

“No,” Mark replies, “at least, not until you give me a real answer. Do you want to train together or not?”

When Donghyuck answers, there is a smile in his voice and Mark knows, without having to see it, that his lips are quirking upward. “I do want to win, don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this is a slowburn  
> markhyuck: *kiss at the end of ch 4*
> 
> (srsly though this is a slowburn so they prob won't kiss again or have deep, heartfelt conversations until another 30k pass but it's OKAY y'all we'll get THROUGH IT. let's just enjoy a rare moment of good communication for now, this is quite a big accomplishment for the two of them imho) 
> 
> ((also as always comments + kudos are appreciated. i've been quite bad at replying to the latest ones, mostly bc life's gotten in the way, but i promise i read all of them multiple times over and they're a huge source of my motivation to write, i swear.))
> 
> EDIT: i made a curious cat to answer your guys' questions. i've never had one and i'm a little nervous using it so pls be nice ty  
> https://curiouscat.me/crashbang12  
> twitter: @crashbang12


	5. i.v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things to note + one:  
> 1\. School is starting this week for me so I don't really know what my update schedule will look like after this. If I manage to create a routine (lmao) I'll update y'all but let's be real that probably won't happen.  
> 2\. This chapter is quite different from the previous ones. If it reads more like a filler it's because I'm using it mostly to develop the relationships between all of the characters. This fic is quite plot-heavy and the plot picks up in another two or three chapters, so if I won't have a lot of time to spend on character building or on the subplots like I am now. This is why this chapter is dealing a lot with everyone's relationships to each other btw.  
> 3\. I can't stress this enough but Donghyuck and Junghwa have not and will never be in any sort of romantic/sexual relationship. As for what their complicated history entails... well, I'm eager to hear your theories, y'all. 
> 
> +1: There's character death in this fic. It won't be markhyuck, of course, which is why I didn't tag the story as major character death but people do die, though it's your guess as to who they are.

At some point during the night, Donghyuck starts calling the Flier by his name. It’s not a bad name. It’s concise, only two syllables, and as pretty as the moonlit military base below him. Donghyuck peers at the buildings—there’s the Fliers Barracks and the Pilots Barracks, respectively, the Research Facilities, the Recreational Facilities, a line of garages, and some personnel clubs at the far end of his line of sight. Everything is doused in violet and silver. He wants to keep looking, but his eyelids are getting heavy and the it is so very quiet here. 

“Wait, don’t fall asleep—”

Donghyuck tries to open his mouth to assure Mark that he’s awake, but the night envelops him like a warm hug from an old friend.

His eyes fall shut.

§§•§§

That night, Donghyuck doesn’t dream.

§§•§§ 

“Donghyuck-ah. Wake up.”

Donghyuck moans. His bed is warm and so, so comfortable. “Ten minutes.”

“We don’t have ten minutes. Breakfast is almost over.”

Stumbling to his feet, Donghyuck hits the side of his head against the bedrail. Jeno gasps, more out of solidarity than actual shock, and helps him up. “I slept through the alarm?” Donghyuck asks.

“Yeah, sorry. None of us wanted to wake you up. You looked so—so…peaceful.”

There’s something questioning in Jeno’s voice, but Donghyuck can’t pinpoint what it is. He rubs his eyes and says, “You already went to breakfast, though, right? You’d be dumb if you didn’t.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything.

“ _Jeno_.”

“It wasn’t because of you. I just…I didn’t want to go today. For…reasons.”

Donghyuck stares at him. “Are you lying?”

“N—No.”

“Then what—”

Jeno avoids eye contact.

“—it’s because of Na isn’t it?”

Face paling, Jeno hurriedly denies this. “No! _No_ , no, I mean, not—not really.”

Suspicions confirmed, Donghyuck tugs Jeno to the ground, until they’re both on their knees facing each other. He almost feels like he’s at church again, but he hasn’t stepped foot in a house of worship since he lived with his grandmother. God and he aren’t on the best of terms at the moment. They won’t ever be if Na Jaemin hurt Jeno.

“If he did something, anything at all, I need you to tell me.”

Jeno’s eyes are big and dark and, strangely, sad. “No,” Jeno says, some of that sadness creeping into his words, “it’s really not like that. I promise.”

Donghyuck wants to believe him, but there’s a voice inside of his head, telling him not to trust anyone or anything and that includes Jeno. “I can help you,” Donghyuck insists, trying to curb down on his festering rage, “I can take care of it.”

“Donghyuck.” Jeno finds his hand and squeezes it. His fingers are warm and calloused and delicate. “There’s nothing to take care of. Please, believe me.”

_I wish I could, Jeno-yah, but I know what Alphas are like._

Donghyuck wants to tell him that, but there’s no point. If Jeno is lying, he’ll deny whatever Donghyuck is going to say, anyway. _It’s okay if you won’t say it out loud,_ Donghyuck thinks instead, letting the words trickle into the empty space between them, _because I’ve already got you. I won’t let anything happen to you._

When Jeno realizes Donghyuck isn’t going to protest his statement, he looks uncertain, as if he isn’t sure what to say next. He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Donghyuck’s already figured it out. “You know,” Jeno finally says, tentative, “since we’re both here, there was…There was something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. _Yeah?_

“One of the Fliers carried you back to our room last night. I—I think his name was Mark Lee? He said he was your mentor.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck’s mouth dries. “Yeah.”

“So…he _is_ your mentor?”

"Sort of." 

Jeno looks troubled. “What were you doing with him, Donghyuck-ah?”

A strange feeling germinates inside of Donghyuck's chest. It’s warm and it feels a little like lightening, but it’s not _unpleasant_. “Not much,” Donghyuck says, stubbornly fighting a blush when the image of him sitting on Mark’s lap pops into his head. “I just ran into him last night.”

“And?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “And nothing.”

Jeno sighs before letting go of Donghyuck’s hand. It falls limply to his side. “One day you’ll tell me.”

 _And one day_ you’ll _tell_ me _the truth, Lee Jeno._

As if knowing what he’s thinking, Jeno smacks his shoulder, letting out an exasperated huff of air. “I’m already honest with you, Donghyuck-ah. I’ve...I've got nothing to hide.”

That’s a damn lie. Everyone has a secret.

“Oh, yeah?” Donghyuck says. “Wanna bet?”

§§•§§

Jeno, as it turns out, does not want to bet.

Donghyuck tries to convince him on their way to the cafeteria, where they meet up with the girls. As always, Heejin and Hyunjin have extra food in their pockets—Donghyuck is beginning to suspect they’re secretly running an underground black market specializing in extra snacks—and he munches on a cranberry muffin before breakfast officially ends. It’s not kimchi, but it’ll do.

“Why don’t you want to bet?” Donghyuck asks, chucking the wrapper in the trashcan.

Jeno groans. “I’m not a gambling man, Hyuck, I’ve already told you—”

“A little friendly competition isn’t gambling, Lee Jeno. Come on, Madame President, tell him I’m right.”

“Donghyuck’s right,” Heejin says distractedly, peering at the opposite end of the cafeteria as they file to leave. Donghyuck sticks out his tongue Jeno, but his triumph abruptly dies when Heejin announces, “Oh, there’s Mark Lee! I was starting to think he wasn’t going to come.”

“You were looking for him?” Donghyuck asks. "Why?" 

“You’ll see, Donghyuck-ah.”

Then, with the determined will of a mother holding onto her toddler in a grocery store, Heejin clamps her hand around Donghyuck’s wrist and starts hauling him in the aforementioned Flier’s direction. Donghyuck tries to fight her, but she’s currently being possessed by the ghost of a MMA champion, because she’s way, way stronger than usual. “Heejin,” Donghyuck hisses, wide-eyed, “what the fuck—”

“Language, my young padawan,” Heejin says, unnervingly calm as she maneuvers through a crowd of Alpha Trainees. “We’ve got business to sort out.”

Donghyuck splutters. “What the hell are you talking about—”

Heejin stops them at the edge of the door. Donghyuck doesn’t need to look to know that Mark Lee is hovering just outside of the cafeteria. His Bond Mark is warming up again. “Hello, sir,” Heejin says, still gripping Donghyuck’s wrist. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Um,” Mark says, eyes flickering to Donghyuck, “hi?”

Donghyuck’s mouth dries. He glares at Heejin.

Ignoring him, Heejin smiles. “You’re Donghyuck’s mentor, right?”

Why the hell is everyone so concerned about who his goddamned tutor is? Donghyuck opens his mouth, about to tell her off, but then Mark says yes, he is mentoring Donghyuck and if Donghyuck doesn’t know any better, he might think the Flier sounds oddly _shy_ about his title. 

Heejin nods to herself. “Well, there’s something I need to make clear about that.”

“Heejin—”

“Shush, Hyuck. I’m talking.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. _Oh my God._

“Our Hyuck,” Heejin begins, sounding like an old drunk man in the middle of a sentimental speech in a drama, “is not good at living.” Donghyuck makes a sound of protest, but Heejin barrels on. “He doesn’t sleep on time and if it weren’t for me and Hyunjin and Jeno, he wouldn’t eat all his meals, either. I’m also fairly sure that if someone told him not to wrestle an angry bull, he would try doing it out of spite, because he’s stubborn and awful at trying not to die.”

“Heejin, for the love of God—”

“And yet,” Heejin continues, “in the span of little over a week, he’s become one of my closest friends.”

Donghyuck closes his mouth, stunned.

“I care about him.” Heejin’s voice softens. “I worry about him, too.”

For once, instead of his Bond Mark, the back of Donghyuck’s throat burns. He blinks rapidly. _Is she trying to make me cry? What the fuck?_

Then something shifts in Heejin’s eyes. Her voice turns to iron, and when she speaks, her words are pieces of crushed metal, promising devastation to anyone stupid enough to get in her way. “So you can understand why, if anything happens to happen, I won’t hesitate.”

_Is she…warning him?_

“Do you get what I’m trying to say, sir?”

Fear crawls inside of Donghyuck’s belly. Those are fighting words, laced with disrespect, and Heejin could be kicked out of Ludus for threatening a senior. Worse, she could be court-martialed, and if that happens, she would have to go back home in disgrace, a black stain on her records. It would be impossible for her to go to school or find a job or even to have children.

“She doesn’t mean that,” Donghyuck says, yanking his wrist away from Heejin’s clasp and stepping in front of her. “She’s just—she’s hungover, after you brought me back last night, I convinced her to sneak out with me and we had a few drinks—”

“He’s lying,” Heejin says from behind him.

Donghyuck closes his eyes, feeling the onset of a migraine. Why can’t Heejin see what he’s seeing? Why does she have to be so honest and _good_ all the time?

Mark tilts his head. “I know that.”

 _Does he have to sound so… so smug?_ Donghyuck scowls and doesn’t bother hiding it from the Flier. It’s Heejin he’s worried about, not himself. Mark Lee can’t do anything to him, not if he doesn’t want Donghyuck to hightail to General Kwon’s office and reveal what happened at Lake Sejeong. Sure, it would kill Donghyuck’s chances at staying at Ludus, but Mark would have to be disciplined in some way, too, and someone as straight-edge as him would probably hate that and—

“Since breakfast is over,” Mark says, offering Donghyuck a hand, “would you like to hold your first practice session now?”

Like in Captain Kim’s office, Donghyuck’s surprise dampens his anger. His mouth falls open and he blurts out, “You…You’re not going to punish her?”

Mark looks confused. “Why would I do that?”

“Because—because—” Donghyuck comes back to his senses. “I mean, right, why would you do that? That clearly…doesn’t make any sense.”

Heejin pats his back. “Should I go, Donghyuck-ah?”

Donghyuck elbows her. _Yes, moron. Leave before he changes his mind._

“Okay,” Heejin says, amused, “I can take a hint.”

She squeezes his hand once and then she’s gone. Donghyuck pivots on his heel and watches as she makes her way to Hyunjin and Jeno. Hyunjin whispers something in her ear and she throws her head back as she laughs. Then, Jeno is drawing her attention, and she is telling him something, her chin tipping to her chest and her hands flapping in the air as she makes her point. Donghyuck looks at them and Heejin’s words float back to him, like a line from a well-loved song: _I care about him. I worry about him, too._

“Are those your friends?” Mark asks.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says roughly, “guess so.”

“Do you…Do you care about them?”

Donghyuck rubs his eyes, surprised when they’re wet. “What’s it to you, Lee?”

“Nothing, I just—I was curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Donghyuck mumbles in English before turning around and facing the Flier.

Mark’s eyebrows are practically up in his hairline. “You know English?”

 _I watched a lot of American T.V. growing up,_ Donghyuck thinks. He says instead, “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not stupid.”

“It’s not about intelligence—”

“Sure it is,” Donghyuck says. He doesn’t know why he’s still continuing this tired conversation, but fighting with Mark Lee is as easy as breathing. At least, as long as the fighting isn’t physical. “It always is. Even our preliminaries had an English vocabulary section. Isn’t that stupid? As if an Acra is ever going to ask me what ‘behemoth’ means.” Donghyuck shakes his head. “This whole country is so—”

Mark’s eyes are dark and pressing. Suddenly, irrevocably, Donghyuck is reminded of the way they had looked seconds after he has kissed him on the rooftop, his pupils overblown and almost swallowing his irises whole. “So what?” Mark asks. He sounds like he really wants to know. He sounds like he cares.

 _Don’t be stupid, Donghyuck,_ says his grandmother’s voice in his head. _Even poison can taste sweet._

And, just like that, Donghyuck is pulled away from the grip of Marl Lee’s surprisingly entrancing eyes. He takes a step back and casts a furtive glance at his surroundings. Most of the Trainees have already left the cafeteria, but some of them are still here and Donghyuck can _feel_ them staring at him. They must be wondering why he’s been talking to a Flier for so long—and why that Flier’s been talking to him for so long. If he stays here any longer, the rumors will start writing themselves.

“You said you wanted to do a practice session now, right?” Donghyuck doesn’t wait for Mark to nod. “Then let’s go.”

§§•§§

“I like this practice room, because it’s hidden away from the others,” Mark explains, taking off his shoes. “It’s also stocked with weapons. Obviously, we can’t use the guns, but anything else is fair game.”

“There’s a nunchaku here,” Donghyuck points out. The weapon is hanging on the wall along with an array of pointy blades and daggers and— “Is that a flamethrower?”

“Okay,” Mark says, grinning, “maybe that one’s off-limits, too.”

“Maybe?”

“Definitely.”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Disappointing.”

Wryly, Mark says, “Your friend was right. You don’t like to try very hard to stay alive, do you?”

Donghyuck’s answering smile is dangerous. “What’s the fun in that?”

§§•§§

“Having fun?” Mark asks conversationally as he uses his escrima stick to shove Donghyuck into the wall. It’s an infuriatingly affective technique.

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck says, wheezing.

Mark backs away. “Again. This time try to, you know, actually block me.”

“ _Double_ fuck you.”

§§•§§

Three hours pass. Donghyuck doesn’t know that until Mark tells him, sounding astonished when he says, “I was only supposed to be here for an hour.”

“Why?” Donghyuck flops on the ground. “Do you have anything better to do?”

If he does Mark clearly doesn’t care about it. He sits down next to Donghyuck, remarkably not out of breath despite having been bested by Donghyuck three times. (He had also won against Donghyuck another four times, but Donghyuck tries not to think about that. It makes him want to punch something.) “Yes, actually,” Mark says, tilting his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

“What?” Donghyuck asks.

He’s not asking because he cares about Mark or anything. It’s just that Mark is a Flier and Donghyuck is a wannabe Flier and maybe, just maybe, Donghyuck can learn enough from him to gain an advantage.

“It’s classified.”

Donghyuck lets out a breath. “Of course it is.”

Mark smiles apologetically. “You know how the military is.”

 _Yeah,_ Donghyuck thinks, bitter, _I do._

Several moments pass. Donghyuck starts an internal debate about whether he should hurry back to his room to take a shower before afternoon drills or whether it would be better just to flop to the ground like a dying starfish and take a quick nap.

Just as he’s about to come to a conclusion—the nap sounds lovely and he’s going to be sweaty during the drills, anyway—Mark says, “You never finished telling me.”

“Telling you what?”

“You were about to say something about Korea.” Mark opens his eyes. “What was it?”

There’s that peculiar feeling in Donghyuck’s chest again. Maybe he should go to the Infirmary sometime this week and ask Dr. Kim to check it out. It doesn’t feel bad, but he doesn’t know why it keeps happening, like his heart is continuously forgetting how to beat. “You remembered?” Donghyuck asks once he’s gotten a handle on himself. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Mark sneaks a look at him. “Probably because it was you.”

 _Yeah, definitely telling Dr. Kim._ Donghyuck thumps his chest. “You’re incorrigible,” he says in English, because he studied like hell for that vocab section and he’s damned if he doesn’t use these words now. And also maybe because he wants to flex on Mark. 

“I’m practically irredeemable when it comes to you,” Mark replies in perfect English, grinning cockily.

Donghyuck stares at him. He doesn’t even have an accent. Why the hell doesn’t he have an accent?

“I grew up in Vancouver,” Mark confesses, guessing what Donghyuck is wondering by just looking at him. “That’s where I learned English.” He clears his throat. “Anyway. Tell me, Donghyuck. What were you going to say?”

The conversation on the rooftop last night was supposed to be a one-time thing, like a one-night stand. You’re not supposed to go back to a one-night stand—you’re supposed to leave in the morning nursing a hangover and promising yourself you won’t ever do it again. Except, for whatever reason, Mark is the asshole that leaves his number in your phone, expecting you to text him as soon as you get home, but instead of sex, he wants to talk about _feelings_ or something equally, stupidly sentimental. It’s maddening.

“Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck groans. _Fuck him, honestly._ “I don’t know,” he says, falling into the Flier’s trap once again, this time knowingly. “I guess I was going to say that I don’t understand why everyone in this country keeps pretending like the world’s not ending.” He frowns. “I used to visit Seoul sometimes on my days off and I’d walk past rows of advertisements about _toners_ and skin brightening treatments of all things. And right next to the shop advertising it, there would be a memorial for someone’s dead dad. It was so fucking bizarre, but no one even batted an eye.”

Mark considers this carefully. “I think…I think people need distractions.”

Donghyuck appraises him for the first time since—well, since last night. Mark’s black hair is damp with sweat and his skin is still flush with victory, but there’s a deep ridge in the point in between his eyebrows and Donghyuck knows he’s thinking deeply about what Donghyuck said.

“Elaborate,” Donghyuck drawls, interested despite himself.

“Whenever I go on a mission, I don’t think about the fact that I could die. I _know_ I could die, all Fliers do. But I don’t think about it—I think about small things like whether I turned off my stove or whether Baekhyun hyung is going to organize another football match.” He shakes his head. “What I’m trying to say is…distractions help. They keep you from freaking out.”

“You’ve _never_ thought about dying in the middle of a mission?” Donghyuck asks. “Seriously?”

“I mean—”

“Not once?”

Mark’s gaze flits across the room. “Maybe once,” he accedes.

 _What was so different about that time?_ Before Donghyuck can ask him to explain, Mark gets to his feet. “I really need to go,” he says, sparing Donghyuck a glance. “Do you—will you be free tonight?”

No, today’s not Sunday. Today there’s a curfew and strict rules about following that curfew. “Yeah,” Donghyuck says, shrugging. “The rooftop?”

Mark spares him a smile. “I’ll see you there.”

§§•§§

Donghyuck sees him quite a lot, actually. 

During the day, he meets Mark at their favorite practice room. At night, he sneaks out to the rooftop for another late-night training sessions. Time passes by quickly until he realizes, during his third Sunday at Ludus, that it’s almost been two weeks since they first started practicing together. The weeks have been a blur of sparring and talking. Mark can’t seem to spend a single session without talking about _something_ , whether that thing is how he detests oysters or about the inner workings of Ludus’ administration. (Apparently, Kwon Boa has to report to the Council of Five, Korea’s most elite military council, every two months on Ludus’ progress fighting the Acra.)

Unsurprisingly—and completely unintentionally—Donghyuck finds himself learning more about the Flier than he had ever anticipated. He learns that Mark is fond of the number nine because his postal code in Vancouver contained four nines. He learns that Mark likes to hum rap songs under his breath when’s exhausted—he’s also almost always exhausted. And he also learns that, out of anyone else he has ever met, Mark Lee is almost as stubborn as he is. He’s not a vicious fighter, but he’s relentless. He gives as good as he gets, and to Donghyuck’s endless chagrin, he is much better at sparring than he had been during their first match on the rooftop.

Like now.

Mark has Donghyuck pushed up against the wall using a clever jiu jitsu move that Donghyuck hadn’t seen him use before. He pins Donghyuck’s wrists in his hands and cages his body between his legs. It’s—it’s a strangely intimate position. Donghyuck’s so close he can see the bump on Mark’s nose and the small white scar underneath his right eye—is that from the time Donghyuck roundhouse kicked him in the face or from something else entirely?—and the way the chocolate in his iris slowly recedes into pure black at the circumference.

If this were any other Alpha, Donghyuck would have immediately tried to regain control of his punching arm. As it stands, though, from the way Mark is clenching Donghyuck’s wrist—so tightly that the blue-green veins in his arms pulse—he’s not planning on letting go. 

“Give up, Donghyuck. I’ll go easy on you this time.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Would I be me if I did?”

A small smile dances on Mark’s sweaty face. “No,” he says very softly. “You don’t do resignation very well.”

“I don’t do defeat very well, either.”

Mark’s smile turns smug. “You’ve been learning it quite quickly, though. But maybe I’m just a good teacher?”

 _You bastard,_ Donghyuck thinks, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel pissed. He feels determined, and something else, something akin to excitement. It’s been a long time since he had a partner who can thrill him in the middle of a match—the Trainees in the Fifth Base weren’t good enough to challenge him. With Mark, though, nothing is easy. Everything—every kick he lands and punch he blocks—takes more effort than he had ever needed before. Mark is fast and strong and to best him, Donghyuck has to rely on every bit of honed muscle he has. And, sometimes, when even that’s not enough, when the cards aren’t in his favor, he has to find a way to flip the table.

“Aren’t you scared I’ll kiss you again?” Donghyuck asks too innocently. He even bats his eyelashes. Like all the other Alphas Donghyuck’s ever met, Mark isn’t immune to an Omega’s charms. He’s easy—too easy. “I could do it right now, Lee, and you wouldn’t even see it coming.”

Tragically, Mark’s expression doesn’t change, even if he does clench Donghyuck’s wrists a little tighter. “You can’t seriously expect me to fall for _that_ trick again.”

Donghyuck smirks. He isn’t one to give up—Mark should have learned that by now. “I have other tricks at my disposal, you know. I’m so close to you I could grind on you right now. I could even bend down and wrap my mouth around your—”

“ _Enough_ ,” Mark groans. He removes one of his hands from Donghyuck’s wrist to slap it on his lips.

Laughter bubbles inside of Donghyuck and floats out of his mouth before he can help it. Mark’s nose is scrunched up the way it always is when he’s done with Donghyuck, truly done, and his usually pale cheeks are dusted in pink. _What, did I scare you, Mark?_

“You’re impossible,” Mark says like he did the night they met. “I can’t ever get you to stop, can I?”

 _Never,_ Donghyuck thinks and, mid-laugh, brings his free wrist down and slams it in the center of Mark’s face.

§§•§§

“I hate you,” Mark mutters.

Another peal of laughter erupts from Donghyuck’s lips. He can’t stop himself. Mark looks like a sulking child.

“Keep laughing and I’ll quit,” Mark snaps, irritated.

“Don’t be a baby,” Donghyuck replies, but tries to suppress his laughter. “It doesn’t look that bad, I swear.”

“Really?”

Donghyuck grins. “Nah, I’m lying. It’s _atrocious_.”

He’s telling the truth this time. The bruise is still red, but it’s large and swollen, spanning the entirety of Mark’s left cheek. In two days it’ll start purpling and Mark won’t be able to hide it from anyone in Ludus. Donghyuck tells him this and Mark buries his face in his hands. “I’m doomed. I’m actually doomed. Hyung is going to kill me.”

“That seems counterproductive,” Donghyuck notes. “Anyway. Raise your head, Lee.”

“No.”

“ _Mark_.”

“You’re going to laugh again,” Mark says petulantly.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to laugh.” _A lot,_ he adds mentally.

“You’re lying,” Mark says, but he raises his head.

He’s still pouting and it takes everything in Donghyuck to stop himself from giggling, but he manages to keep a straight face, at least for his Flier’s sake. “I wouldn’t be making such a big fuss if you punched me,” he says, even as he cups Mark’s face in his hands, inspecting the damage. “For someone who routinely fights the Acra, you’re being _quite_ the drama queen.”

“I really am going to quit, Lee Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck traces the edges of the bruise carefully. He makes sure to keep his touch feather light. “You just need to ice it every day. I’d do it for you if I had some ice at hand, but—” He shrugs and, using the slightest pressure, taps Mark’s cheek. “—you’ll be fine.”

Mark winces. “Will I? My face is precious.”

Donghyuck snorts. “As if.”

“It is,” Mark insists, but his pout deepens until Donghyuck is torn between mocking him and squeezing his cheeks. “I’ve been told I have good cheekbones.”

“They’re alright,” Donghyuck says, fighting a smile. “I’ve seen better.”

“Who?”

“No one you’d know,” Donghyuck says elusively and tries to move away, but Mark traps his wrists in his hands again.

“Tell me,” Mark insists.

“You’re gonna have to fight me for the answer,” Donghyuck says.

Mark lets go of his wrists. “Tonight?”

Donghyuck traps his laughter somewhere inside of his lungs where it floats like a feather in the wind. He can’t remember the last time he felt this—this _light_ , like he was made of sunshine and sunshine only. “Tonight,” he agrees, already anticipating their next match.

§§•§§

Donghyuck flops back on his bed, his body still aching from this morning’s match. Mark’s injuries must feel worse, though. Maybe Donghyuck should get him a _get well soon_ card and scribble down an apology for ruining his ‘precious cheekbones’ or something. He’s not actually sorry, but Mark is probably the type of person would appreciate the gesture even if it is a bit snarky. It’s Donghyuck’s day off, so he could, theoretically speaking, catch the bus to town and do a little shopping.

Before Donghyuck can make any concrete plans, though, the door to Bunk C4 slams open and Heejin enters the room, her hair wrapped in a towel. She smells like her favorite off-brand coconut body scrub.

“Donghyuck-ah?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you use my hairdryer?”

“Nope,” Donghyuck says, popping the ‘p’.

Heejin starts rummaging around her bed. “I can’t find it.”

“Hyunjin probably took it. She said she had a date.”

Turns around slowly Heejin sports a frown. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes,” Donghyuck says patiently, “she _does_.”

“We’re not allowed to date.”

They’re not allowed to do a lot of things, including sneaking food into their rooms and, in Donghyuck’s case, fighting his accidentally Bonded partner during midnight. Donghyuck tells her this, minus the Bonded partner part, and Heejin’s frown deepens until all of her typical light-heartedness evaporates.

“But…Hyunjin would have told me. We tell each other _everything_.”

Donghyuck isn’t sure what to say to this. It’s always been obvious to him that Heejin’s favorite person in the base is Hyunjin and vice versa, but now he’s started to suspect that their favoritism is veering into other uncharted territories—at least, it might be for his Madame President. “She didn’t mention who it was with,” Donghyuck says, trying to appease her. “It might have just been a joke, I don’t know.”

Heejin doesn’t look appeased. Her eyes are turning glassy, but it’s her smile that makes Donghyuck’s heart squeeze: it’s tiny and half-broken. “It’s okay, Donghyuck-ah, really. It doesn’t matter that she’s—that she’s—”

Donghyuck is out of his bunk bed before he knows it, crossing the floor and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He’s not good at giving hugs, but he grew up with three younger siblings, so he knows what to do mechanistically. “Listen,” Donghyuck says, trying not sound soothing but knowing he’s failing miserably, “you should ask Jeno once he comes back from the shower. Hyunjin might have told him more about it.”

Heejin sniffles. “Jeno’s not in the showers.”

“What? Of course, he is.”

“No, Donghyuck.” Heejin’s voice is muffled. “I was just in the showers and Jeno wasn’t there.”

A chill runs up Donghyuck’s spine. “Are you sure?”

Heejin nods.

“Then we need to look for him. He could be in trouble—”

Pulling away from Donghyuck, Heejin rests a hand on his head, like she’s petting a rabbit or something instead of a man who is objectively taller than her. Her eyes are red. “Donghyuck-ah, Jeno is not in trouble, I promise.”

“You know where he is?”

“I have my suspicions.”

Donghyuck waits.

“I can’t tell you,” Heejin says sadly. She strokes Donghyuck’s hair. “You’ve still got a long way to go, I think, before you can be understanding of his situation.”

Donghyuck grits his teeth. “I already know—”

“No,” Heejin sighs, “you _suspect_.”

“Heejin,” Donghyuck says, “stop being so cryptic.”

“Hyuck,” Heejin replies, “please just hug me again. I think my heart is shattering.”

Despite the worry tugging his gut, Donghyuck obliges her. It would be cruel not to and Donghyuck _can_ be cruel—the world has taught him how—but not to Jeon Heejin. Not to any of the Omegas here, honestly. He rests his head on top of her still-wet hair and tries to rub comfort into her shoulders. He’s only hugged one other girl in his entire life: his younger sister, Yuna. Yuna wasn’t delicate, exactly, but she was reckless and she fell in love easily—with places and seasons and stupid, idiotic boys. It had always been Donghyuck’s job to pick up the pieces of his younger sister’s heart—his grandmother hadn’t had the patience. He supposes taking care of Yuna should have prepared him for a situation like this, but this feels different. Maybe because, except for a few sniffs here and there, Heejin is weeping silently, like she doesn’t even believe she’s allowed to be sad.

“Heejin,” Donghyuck says cautiously, “I don’t think—I think—I mean, it’ll be okay.”

“It won’t, Hyuck.”

“Why not?”

You’ve never had a best friend, have you?”

Donghyuck isn’t sure what to say to that. Heejin’s right. He’s never had a best friend. “Does it matter?”

“It does.” Heejin stops crying, but keeps her face pressed in the crook of Donghyuck’s neck. “She’s supposed to know my whole heart, Hyuck. So why doesn’t she see that I—that I—”

“That you what?”

Heejin finally raises her head. Her lips are trembling. “That I love her. That I love her more than anything."

§§•§§

Once she’s done crying, Heejin falls asleep fairly quickly. She makes Donghyuck promise to sing to her, though—an old Christian hymn—so he sits at the floor by her bed and mumbles the words even after her eyes flutter closed and her breathing evens. The hours stretch by until Donghyuck’s legs cramp and he wants to get up and run, or, better yet, to climb the stairs to the roof and fight Mark Lee again. But it feels wrong to leave his Madame President by herself—not after she had confessed his heartbreak to him—so he stays until he hears the door open with a small click.

“Donghyuck-ah?” Jeno says quietly. “What are you doing?”

Donghyuck scrutinizes the other Omega. He looks the same, but there’s something off about him—he’s almost glowing, his skin seemingly lit from the inside out, but maybe he just used a different moisturizer. He’s been very particular with his skin these days, spending extra time in the bathroom with his products. “Did you know that Heejin was in love with Hyunjin?” Donghyuck asks. Best not to, as the Americans say, _beat around the bush_.

“Oh.” Jeno’s face falls. “She found out.”

“Spill the tea, Lee.”

“The—what?”

“Nothing.” Donghyuck rubs the nape of his neck. “Just tell me what’s going on between Heejin and Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin is dating someone, I think.” Jeno speaks very softly, almost nervously, his eyes darting to Heejin as if he’s afraid that she’s going to wake up and start beating him up with her lost hairdryer. “Or at least—she’s going on dates with someone? It’s very confusing.”

“Who? An Alpha?”

“I think so.”

Donghyuck makes a face.

Jeno lets out a small, awkward laugh. “She’s super nice, though! She’s a Flier—her name is Jungeun, I think? But Hyun always calls her Kim Lip or something, I think it’s an inside joke.”

“They have inside jokes?” Donghyuck asks. This is very bad news. “How do you know all of this, Jeno? I’ve never heard Hyunjin mention her.”

Jeno shrugs. “We're always the first two up, so we have more time to talk about…about stuff.” His ears turn red.

Donghyuck stares at his red ears and his glowing skin and wonders what the hell else he’s missing out on. He’s starting to suspect that Hyunjin’s not the only one ‘going on dates’ but—no, that can’t be possible. It’s only been three weeks since they first arrived at Ludus and while Hyunjin is extroverted and self-assured in a way that even Donghyuck sometimes envies, Jeno is—Well, Jeno is the closest thing to an angel on this doomed planet, but he’s also shy and terrible at small talk. He definitely isn't going on dates with some Alpha he met at the beginning of this month.

“Donghyuck?” Jeno asks nervously. “Do you want to ask me something?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “No—I mean, yeah, actually.” He stands up and stretches. “I’ve gotta go train—can you look after Heejin for me?”

Jeno nods, but asks, “At this hour?”

“The sparring tournament is in two weeks,” Donghyuck reminds him. It’s the last test before their first quarter of training ends and it’s worth more than the first week exams were. If he does well, he can start climbing the rankings. (Besides, he likes his rooftop fights. He likes the moon and the chilly night air. He likes the way a hard-earned victory tastes. And he promised Mark Lee a rematch.)“I’ve got to practice.”

Jeno looks like he wants to disagree but he accedes. He squeezes Donghyuck’s shoulder when Donghyuck walks past him and, with concern coloring his voice, he says, “Good luck, Hyuck. Come back before dawn, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Jeno-yah. I’ll be alright.”

§§•§§

Mark isn’t at the roof yet, which Donghyuck finds a little odd, but he sits at his usual spot and decides to wait. He’s a Flier, after all, so he’s bound to have more duties than Donghyuck—honestly, it’s astonishing that he’s even managed to make it to their training sessions for as long as he has. Maybe he’ll come in a minute or in ten. Maybe he won’t come at all.

Donghyuck swallows his disappointment and peeks at the full moon.

It looks like the bottom of a glass mug. Donghyuck traces its contours with his fingers the same way he traced Mark’s bruise. “Is he going to come?” Donghyuck asks the moon, the stars, and whatever else is hanging in the night sky. “Or am I stupid for waiting for him?”

“For who, darling?”

Donghyuck stops breathing. All of the air in his lungs disperses as if his pleural membranes have holes in them. He can’t speak. He can’t move. He can only think: _Not here. Not here. This was supposed to be safe—_

Junghwa’s gloves are warm on Donghyuck’s skin. He cups Donghyuck’s face the way Donghyuck had done to Mark this morning. How long has he been here? Had he been waiting in the shadows? “I hope you don’t mean that stupid Flier, Donghyuck-ah.”

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut.

“What was his name? Lee?”

_Please, please—_

“Didn’t you remember what I told you all those weeks ago, Donghyuck-ah? When I saw you in the bathroom?” Junghwa yanks Donghyuck’s chin roughly. “I told you to behave.”

_Junghwa lashes out, kicking him in the thighs, in the legs, in his stomach, and Donghyuck moans on the ground, unable to move, unable to do anything, anything at all, except pray to a God he doesn’t even believe in that he can regain control of his limbs, that he can finally, finally fight back—_

“But you didn’t, did you? You attracted Lee’s attention.” Junghwa pauses. “Do you know, darling, that I see him looking at you sometimes? Do you know what that means, Donghyuck-ah? Do you know what every Alpha thinks when they look at an Omega?”

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything.

“Answer me.”

“N—No.”

“Alphas like him—all Alphas—they only want to hurt you. And I don’t want them to hurt you. I’d never want them to hurt you.” The sweetness in Junghwa’s voice is like the sweetness of a snake’s slither. And, like before, Donghyuck is the hare. “You’re special to me, Donghyuck-ah. You’re the only family I have left. Do you understand?”

He will never understand. This is beyond comprehension. “Y—Yes.”

“I don’t think you do, though, darling. If you did, why would you let Lee mentor you? Why not me, your own father?”

 _You’re not my father._ Tears slip out of Donghyuck’s eyes for the first time. _You’re not—you’ve never been—you’ve always—_

“I know,” Junghwa says and his voice slips into something almost familial and kind when he brushes away Donghyuck’s tears. “I know it hurts. I know _I’ve_ hurt you. And I’m sorry, Donghyuck-ah. I’m sorry for what happened at Lake Sejeong, but don’t you see? Agony builds strength. The more you can endure, the stronger you’ll become. Isn’t that what I’ve always taught you?”

_His face is bleeding and he is alone without his grandmother to card her fingers through his unruly hair, without his siblings to curl up next to in bed, without his mother to whisper sweet goodbye lullabies in his ear. Junghwa is watching him and sighing._

“But don’t worry, Donghyuck-ah. You can still learn from this. There’s still a way to turn this mess around—and you do want to turn it around, don’t you? You do want to win, don’t you?”

_I do I do I do I do—_

“I can help you still. Do you want my help?”

Donghyuck’s throat clenches. Everything in him compresses. In a singular moment of clarity he knows what Junghwa is going to say next.

“Get close to Mark Lee, Donghyuck-ah. Report to me everything he says and does and I promise you I can find his weaknesses for you. We can dissect them together, you and I, until you beat him every single time. Can you do this for me, Donghyuck-ah?”

Donghyuck’s heart bursts. The Bond Mark on his chest burns. He wonders which one will explode first—he wonders if he’ll feel relieved.

“I—I c—c—can’t—”

“You can,” Junghwa whispers, a hint of flint in his voice now, “and you _will_ , Donghyuck-ah. I will make sure that you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: crashbang12  
> cc: crashbang12
> 
> As always please comment + leave a kudo if you liked this chapter! I live off of them the way an african oxpecker lives off of the blood of a giraffe. (Is this a weird analogy? Yes. Am I implying our relationship might be symbiotic in origin, dear reader? Also yes. Is this chapter implying that Icarus Falling! Mark has a kink for dirty talk? PERHAPS. Will 2jin ever get 2gether? WHO KNOWS, REALLY.)
> 
> Until next time,  
> Yours truly. 
> 
> P.S. Yes, hyuck + junghwa are actually biologically related; can anyone say plot twist?


	6. i.vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter y'all, it's the best i can do atm :I 
> 
> (also unedited so sorry for any errors lmao)

Through the window in General Kwon’s office, the moon casts a silver-tinged shadow on Captain Kim’s face. On his lowered eyes. His tensed jaw. Mark’s heart aches in a way that it typically doesn’t ache–in a way he doesn’t _let_ it ache. But grief is infectious, because when Captain Kim stands up suddenly and strides out of the room, his steps clipped and stiff, like the robotic movements of a Navi prototype, sadness slips inside of his mouth and worms its way down his trachea, sidestepping his stomach and burrowing itself in his heart. It’s a phantom pain, a memory more than a novelty, and so he follows his Captain out of the door, as if Kim Minseok is his North Star. (And maybe he is. Maybe he always has been.) “Hyung,” Mark calls out. “Hyung, wait.”

Captain Kim stops for a second, but doesn’t turn around, doesn’t face Mark. “Get ready for the mission, Minhyung,” he says; his typically clear voice is cobwebbed with threads of grief and desperation. “We leave in two days.”

“Hyung, I…I…” Mark tries to find the right words, but they aren’t there. There aren’t right words, not in these situations, not when you feel like the world is being ripped from your grasp. He tries to find them, anyway. “I…”

“Focus on the mission, Minhyung.”

With that, Captain Kim leaves, and once upon a time, his dismissal would have stung like a thousand slaps, but Mark knows what he’s feeling the same way he knows what tears taste like and what grief feels like, when it’s all encompassing and all consuming. The hallway is still dark, but now it is silent, too, and the shadows on the walls are still. Mark stares at his feet, a burning sensation erupting in his throat, and he wonders, despite everything, if it’s still too late to go to the rooftop. (He wants to hit something. He wants to…to…)

“Where’d he go, kid?”

Mark pivots on his heel, even though he knows he won’t be able to see Baekhyun hyung properly in this dim lighting. “I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “He just told me to start getting ready.”

Baekhyun lets out a long, loose breath. Somehow, the sound of his sigh is surprising. It’s easy to forget that behind Baekhyun hyung’s easy laughter is a thick, nearly impenetrable wall of grief. What is it like to lose your entire family to a single Acra attack? Mark doesn’t know. Mark doesn’t ask. “He’s probably calling Minsoo,” Baekhyun decides, voice softer and more tired than usual. He presses a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “It’s okay, kid. I’ll take care of him.”

Mark doesn’t move. “I don’t think he’s gonna call his Mate,” Mark says after hesitating for a moment. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think he’s going to… He used to sit with Pilot Bae on his balcony and drink soju with her sometimes. He’s probably… you know.” Mark scratches the back of his neck. “Taking a trip down memory lane or something.”

"Might be. Nostalgia's a damn son of a bitch."

"Do you really think she's--"

"Her plane crashed, kid. And they found Seulgi unconscious in Aberdeen of all places."

"I don't know, " Mark says, although he's not sure if it's blind hope making him say things. "Sometimes miracles happen."

"Do you really believe in miracles, Mark? After all this time?"

Mark looks away. During his first Acra attack, there had been a broken bridge and a river of fire and bits and pieces Mark still can't remember, but he knows this: He should have died and he hadn't. Hell, he should've died multiple times during this war, but he's still alive when others are not and maybe that means something and maybe it doesn't, but he understands why Captain Kim is going to sit on a balcony with a cup of whiskey and drink until the morning comes. Sometimes, hope is all you've got.

In the end, does it really matter? "It's better than nothing, isn't it?"

Baekhyun doesn't say anything to that, but he brushes his fingers against Mark's wrist briefly before turning around and heading in the opposite direction. Maybe he's going to find Captain Kim and drink with him. Maybe he's going back to his room to think about his family in Bucheon and their little home that had been destroyed over five years ago. After Mark joined CBX, Baekhyun had taken him to the funeral hall that housed his family’s ashes. _My mother likes meeting all of my friends_ , he had told Mark and that was all he ever said about it.

Mark watches him go, wonders if he should follow, but the moment he decides that hell, maybe he should, a different, distinct wave of turmoil washes over him and his chest starts aching in a way it hasn’t since the morning at Lake Sejeong. _Donghyuck._ A flicker of fear igniting inside of him, Mark closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling, to see where it's coming from, until the pain emanating from his Bond Mark condenses into a tangible line, a rope, pulling him toward...toward...

§§•§§

Donghyuck isn't on the roof, which is where the invisible rope takes him first, but his smell lingers in the air. Mark isn't sure when he started being able to smell him like this, especially when his smell is typically so faint, almost nonexistent, but he can't deny that he likes it. Donghyuck smells like honeysuckle, but also of something wild and dangerous and dark, like a summer's evening right before the sky slips into inky, soot-stained black. Right now, though, instead of wild summer flowers, instead of honey and sweetness, Mark smells something acrid, something a little bitter, like crushed flower petals, like the falling leaves of an autumn tree.

_What's wrong? Why'd he leave?_

Mark frowns, uneasy. Donghyuck doesn’t get afraid easily–this, Mark knows all too well. He fights like a warrior, recklessly and without abandon, as if he believes he can never lose. The only time…The only time he had been afraid had been in the bathroom, when he had clung to Mark, shaking like a tree bending in a hurricane; and Mark still doesn’t know why, doesn’t dare ask why, but he knows that if he doesn’t find Donghyuck, his fear will intensify into anxiety and then, slowly, into rage. He’s an Alpha and Donghyuck is his…His, well. His responsibility, he supposes. _I have to make sure he’s alright_.

The scent Donghyuck left behind is like a trail of light left behind by a lighthouse. He follows it to one of the personnel clubs. Where is he going? He doesn't know, but the rope around his hard squeezes until he's almost breathless; and the closer he gets, the more his Bond Mark pulsates like a second heartbeat. Like a clock counting the seconds until...

Mark jumps the wall of the club. It's a bar but Donghyuck isn't inside; this Mark knows with enough surety that he hurries to the small garden located outside of the bar without thinking about it. He doesn't spot anything at first, except for a crumbling stone wall covered in vines, a relic of ancient Joseon, and a thick tangle of beech and evergreen oak trees. There's the chirping of night sparrows and the distant murmur of the wind, too, and then, after a few moments, the small creak of a wooden bench. Mark pushes forward blindly, through the thicket of trees, his face scratched by branches and his hair littered with wet, decaying leaves, until he finds the swinging bench hidden amongst the foliage.

"Donghyuck," Mark says.

Perched on the bench, the Trainee looks up and, like a habit, Mark's breath catches in his throat. On the roof, bathed in the light of a setting sun, he had looked golden and glorious. Now, though, he is silver-spun and gossamer, as if he was born inside of a dream. His burnt golden hair is the color of a moonlight ripple on a pond. His eyes, partly downcast, are the color of melted slate. He doesn't look real. None of this feels real, either. It feels like the moment before a hitched breath. It feels like the moment between two heartbeats. And then, frowning, Donghyuck raises his head slightly, his eyes flickering upward and widening slightly when he takes in Mark’s appearance. “What are you doing here?” he asks, shocked.

Mark swallows and takes a step forward. "I could ask you the same question."

"Don't," Donghyuck says, but something in his voice off, colored incorrectly.

"Why not?"

He averts his eyes again. "Because I...I should go."

"Why?" Mark presses, trying to pitch his voice so that it's gentle. This moment could slip between his fingers if he doesn't... If he doesn't... "Hey. Hey, Donghyuck, look at me. Please."

Donghyuck doesn’t look at him. Of course, he doesn’t look at him. He’s the type of boy who uses his kisses like weapons and who doesn’t mind playing dirty if it means he can win. He laughs at Mark’s mistakes, and he takes pleasure when Mark is writhing in embarrassment, and the last three weeks mean nothing, not even with the Bond Marks tattooed on their chests, but it still… It still stings. (Why can’t he listen? Even now? Why does he have to be so stubborn?) “I’m breaking curfew,” he says, which is true, but Mark isn’t stupid enough to fall for it. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“We’ve been breaking curfew for weeks,” Mark reminds him, taking another step forward, until his knees are practically touching the edge of the bench.

“Not _we_ ,” Donghyuck replies, as elusive as ever. “It’s just been me. I’m the Trainee, sir.”

Is that why he’s upset? He thinks he’s going to get caught? Mark wouldn’t let that happen, but he fights back the urge to remind Donghyuck of that, knowing the Trainee will only take it the wrong way. (‘You really think you’re special, don’t you, Lee?’ he’d say or maybe just a simple ‘fuck you.’) Instead, Mark says, “Don’t call me sir.”

“You’re a Flier.” Donghyuck’s smile is as bitter as his scent. “What was it you said to me when we met? Rules exist for a reason? Well, so do titles.”

Mark squeezes his eyes shut briefly, cursing his past self. “Rules do exist for a reason,” he says, when he finally opens them again, “but…”

Donghyuck still isn’t looking at Mark. Mark wants to cup his face and tilt his chin until he is, but that would be…that would be crossing a line, somehow. Even Mark understands this and his track record with understanding Donghyuck hasn’t been exceptional. “But what?”

“We’ve broken enough already, don’t you think?” Mark pushes the swing with his knees, until it arcs backward and Donghyuck slides back, the sudden momentum ruffling his fine, curly blond hair. Mark–or, rather, his Alpha–wants to card his fingers through his hair, because he it’ll calm Donghyuck down and help dissipate some of his worry, but he fights the urge. For now, he just talks. “Practicing in hidden rooms, sparring on the rooftop at midnight…Speaking of, why didn’t you wait for me, Donghyuck? I could smell you, but you weren’t there.”

Something flashes across Donghyuck’s face. It’s cold and biting, like the first frost in a long winter, but then it passes as quickly as it appears and Donghyuck settles back into a neutral expression. Mark wants to wipe it from his face. Mark wants to see what he really looks like behind the veil he enshrouds himself in. _What are you really thinking, Donghyuck? What’s really going on in your head?_ “Who says I went for you?”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck drawls and he finally, finally, looks at Mark. His eyes, so typically expressive, are nothing but two vast, black pools. Mark sees his distorted reflection in them; it’s like looking inside of an abyss, or a dark tunnel, and Mark’s stomach twists. What happened to the light, the sparkle, in his irises? He sneers. "Maybe I have a secret lover. Maybe I have a lot of lovers and I was entertaining one; wouldn’t you like to know?"

Mark refuses to flinch. Refuses to succumb to the sharpness in Donghyuck's voice and his eyes, but oh, is this Omega sharp, like a dagger waiting to draw blood at the first opportunity. "I don't think you do," Mark says softly, fighting his own pride and searching Donghyuck’s face, trying to read what’s hidden behind layers and layers of secrecy. "I think something happened, though. I can...I can feel your fear."

Donghyuck stands up abruptly and the calm illusion of the night is shattered. "Liar," he hisses, caged between Mark and the bench. " _Liar_."

"You're not usually afraid," Mark says, speaking more quickly, because he knows that Donghyuck is going to fight and it won't be pretty. It won't be deliriously exciting, like it is in the practice rooms and on the rooftop. This time, in the midst of ancient trees and ancient birdsong and a stained night sky, Donghyuck will be hungry for blood. "You're never afraid, not even when we fight, not even when I'm about to win, but you feel like you did in the bathroom, and I want to help--"

"You can't help," Donghyuck hisses. His face is centimeters from Mark's. "Do you understand, Mark Lee? You can't--"

"Mark," he replies, "just Mark."

Donghyuck flinches--Mark hadn't expected that--and for a second, for a brief but tumultuous second, his lips wobble and the foreign anxiety in Mark's body turns into something that feels like grief; like waiting on the edge of a train station for a train that will never come to embark on a journey that is sounding to feel like a fragment of his imagination. "I can't," Donghyuck says, his voice off-kilter again, teetering between angry and something else, something that Mark can’t detect and can’t account for.

(Bae Joohyun is missing _, General Kwon tells them, from behind the throne of large, maple desk. Her hands are folded, her eyes are carefully blank, and the sympathy in her voice is forged from years of practice._ I need your team to find her body before someone else does. Do you understand, Captain Kim?

 _The half-broken sound that Captain Kim lets out is not human. "I can't. I can’t.’_ )

There is a line. There has always been a line and there will always be a line. And Mark isn’t the type to cross lines or forgo boundaries; he likes boundaries; he likes knowing he’s standing on the right side of the fence, but Donghyuck sounds broken and he forgets the line. (Or maybe he doesn't forget. Maybe he just doesn't care.) "You can do anything," Mark tells him, words as a fervent as a prayer. He cups Donghyuck's cheek in his hands, and, almost without thinking about it, he presses their foreheads together. What he lacks in words perhaps he can make up for in touch; in the universal language. "No one can stop you from doing anything. Not on the lake–" Donghyuck flinches and Mark traces the contours of his jaw in apology. His hands tingle and his chest squeezes. “–not in the training room, either. I thought you knew that, Donghyuck.”

This close up his Bond Mark falls in sync with Donghyuck's. Mark tries to channel every bit of assurance and warmth he has into their Bond; and for a second–for a second–it seems to be working, because Donghyuck’s shoulders slump and he tilts forward, toward Mark, toward his chest, so close that his nose nuzzles Mark’s chest. His scent starts blossoming into its typical sweetness again, and Mark smiles, thinking that the worst is over, but of course, Donghyuck will never make it that easy. On the edge of falling into Mark’s embrance, he twists, until he is stumbling _away_ from Mark instead of into him.

“Stop,” Donghyuck says, bent over, his voice weaker than Mark’s ever heard it. “Stop it, Lee.”

“Donghyuck, please–”

“I said _stop_!”

Mark stills. There is broken glass and then there is broken like an animal bleeding, half-dead, in a trap. And, suddenly, breathlessly, in a terrifying moment of clarity–like waking up and realizing that nothing will ever be the same again; that there is an empty space on his bed and in his Navi that will never be filled–Mark realizes that Donghyuck is the latter. He’s caught in something to big for Mark to understand and he’s thrashing about, fighting _something_ and fighting _for_ something, but Mark can’t understand what those things are. Not unless Donghyuck tells him.

“I can help you,” Mark says. Maybe it’s the solder in him; the soldier who risks everything on every mission to save as many people as he possibly can. Maybe its the Alpha, programmed to save his Mate, no matter what the cost. Maybe it’s the lost child; maybe it’s everything and maybe it’s nothing, but he finds himself saying again, his voice a touch below pleading, “I can help you, Donghyuck.” _Please, just let me in_.

“You can’t,” Donghyuck says, and he isn’t screaming, exactly, but his hands are balling into fists and his words are brittle, close to collapsing. “You’ll never be able to help me, Lee, so just leave me the fuck alone, alright?” He straightens suddenly, a jerky motion, as if he’s tied to a string that’s been pulled taut. He doesn’t look at Mark, but Mark sees his lips purse and twist into a scowl so hurt that paralyzes Mark. “And even if you could, I don’t want it, alright? I don’t want your help, okay?” His voice wavers but does not break. “ _Okay_ , Lee?”

 _But you do_ , Mark wants to say. _I see it, Donghyuck, how close you always are to collapsing into my arms; I’m no fool_. He doesn’t say that, though. His tongue is glued to the bottom of his mouth. Maybe it’s tact. Mostly, it’s just a powerful sense of self-preservation. Broken animals in traps, they start thinking everyone is their predator. They kick and snarl and bite and scratch anyone who comes close. They bleed on snow and thrash until they take their last breath or until a miracle happens and they manage to escape. And even when they escape, there’s a part of them stuck in that trap: their grief. A phantom pain. A memory.

 _How had hyung ever managed to free me?_ Mark wonders.

But he never manages to voice that question, because Donghyuck pushes past him, with enough force that Mark almost falls to the ground. He finds his balance in time to see Donghyuck scaling up the brick wall; a long, lithe, dreamlike figure, still so ethereal despite it all.

§§•§§

Mark doesn’t get any sleep that night. Even if he wanted to, his Bond Mark wouldn’t let him. It hurt like a motherfucker until Mark downed five painkillers in the morning. The painkillers are working, if only barely. He’s able to function without cringing every five seconds, and, thankfully, he’s pulled enough sleepless nights in the past that none of his hyungs mention the dark bags underneath his eyes. Or maybe they wouldn’t have noticed even if he was known for taking care of himself. Captain Kim doesn’t say anything while they reboot their Navis: the mechatron suits that allow them to Fly and fight the Acra. (‘I’m Ironman, kid, got it?’ Baekhyun says, grinning when Mark’s mouth falls open when he sees his Navi for the first time. ‘And you’re my noob sidekick–ouch, Minseok, stop pinching me! I said what I said!’) Baekhyun hyung, for his part, ruffles Mark’s hair but leaves him to his own devices–at least, until Captain Kim leaves the launch area. Then, he heads over to Mark’s unit.

He whistles and says, “Looking good, kid.”

“I don’t know, hyung,” Mark says dubiously, worry fluttering inside of him and this time, it’s not just because of a particularly stubborn, closed-off Omega. “I haven’t flown this on my own yet. Not in a real mission.”

“First time for everything, right?”

“I guess,” Mark mumbles.

Baekhyun shakes his head. “We’re going on a search mission. We’re not fighting the Acra this time. You only need to be able to Fly the damn thing.”

Mark supposes that’s true but his stomach drops, anyway. He hesitates, wiping the oil from his Navi on his pants. “About that…I’m kind of curious about something, hyung.”

“Yeah?”‌

“Why just us?” Mark asks. “Shouldn’t Pilot Bae’s team of Pilots be involved as well, or another group of Fliers, just in case something goes wrong? That’s standard procedure.”

Grimacing, Baekhyun says, "It's about the optics, kid. The Council doesn't want a bunch of Fliers circling the South China Sea. Not after the attack on Hong Kong."

"It's been five years, hyung."

"People get scared easily, kid. Best not to risk it."

Mark doesn’t buy it. He tells Baekhyun hyung that and Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair.

“We’re running low on public morale, kid,” Baekhyun tells him finally, his words strangely, uncharacteristically clipped. “After the disaster in Russia last year–”

“That wasn’t _us_ ,” Mark says. “The Russians never should have bought the triple-jet thrusters, not when they’re known to explode– ”

“I know that,” Baekhyun says, starting to pace around Mark’s Navi, bubbling with nervous, tense energy, “and you know that, but not everyone else lives in a military base, yeah? They see something scary on TV and it’s enough for people to start questioning and opposition leaders to start campaigns. Either way, we have to be more careful.”

“You mean more secretive.”

Baekhyun shoots him a look. “The _Council_ means more secretive.”

Mark shuts his mouth and turns to his Navi, frowning. _Maybe the Council should know better_ , he thinks to himself and is surprised when he finds that the words don’t leave him with a sense of guilt, like they used to. Briefly, the image of a curly-haired Omega flashes in his mind and he wonders what Donghyuck would say, and what he would think, about all of this. Grimacing, Mark tugs on the wiring in his Navi a little harder. _Stop thinking about him, Jesus H. Christ_ –

“You good, Mark?”

Mark looks up. “Huh?”

“Is it about the Council?”

“No, it’s about–” Mark flushes when he realizes he’s about to say Donghyuck’s name. “I mean–yeah. It’s about the Council.”

Baekhyun raises a well-groomed brow. “You’re a damned good Flier, Mark, but you’re a shitty liar.”

“I’m not–”

“It wouldn’t happen to be about your Omega, would it?”

Mark almost electrocutes himself on his wiring. He stops himself, just in time, and turns to Baekhyun, red-faced and flustered, “N–No. W–What Omega? I don’t–I don’t have an Omega. I’m sing–”

Baekhyun stops pacing and squats in front of Mark, some of his typical carefree attitude returning when he grins, obviously pleased at Mark’s embarrassment. “You’re talking to the biggest gossip in Ludus, sans Heechul,” Baekhyun says, full of mirth. “And, by the way, it was me Yuqi had been gossiping to before Captain Kim stopped her. So I know everything.” His grin widens. “It’s that Trainee, right? Bottom of the barrel? Lee Donghyuck?”

“He’s not bottom of the barrel,” Mark protests, latching onto this phrase without a second thought, his own pride hurt. “He’s one of the best Trainees in Ludus, hyung. He’s good at _everything_. He just gets picked on by–”

“Ah,” Baekhyun says, nodding his head, “so I see. That’s how it is.”

Mark stops, mid-sentence. His brow furrows. “That’s…what?”‌

“Nothing,” Baekhyun says, rising to his feet and dusting his hands. He looks at the door, but before he goes, he claps Mark’s shoulder and says, “We’re leaving tomorrow, kid. Hurry up with your Navi so that you can say goodbye to him.”

§§•§§

During sunset, Mark enters the rooftop.

He half-expects to see Donghyuck standing on the edge, maybe smoking that damned cigarette again, waiting for Mark to show up. He isn’t there, though. The roof is empty and Mark isn’t disappointed, but he’s close to it. (He’d had to take another dosage of painkillers after lunch, but even they can’t stop the way his head is starting to pound or the nausea in his stomach. Doyoung hyung says it’s ‘separation anxiety’; Mark just wishes there was medication for it.) He frowns, wishing beyond hope that he could fight Donghyuck again, one last time before he heads to Hong Kong, to the South China Sea, in search of Bae Joohyun’s missing body. It’s funny how, in the moment, fighting Donghyuck leaves him wired and full of adrenaline, but in the aftermath, he feels sated in some way, like he’d gorged on a feast and slept for a bit of time and decided that everything was going to turn out okay. What is that feeling? Joy? Or peace? Or both?

It doesn’t matter, though, does it?

He’s leaving tomorrow and Donghyuck is avoiding him. Frown deepening, Mark heads to one of the walls forming the alcove on the rooftop. He takes the note he’d written out of his pocket and uses a stray nail to tack it to the wall; it hangs limply in the windless dusk.

“Please,” Mark tells the note, as if it is a portal to God’s ears, as if this is his way of praying, “let him read this before I leave. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha. ok. so. to clarify a few things: i'm in school and i'm procrastinating on actually doing work, so pls pray for me, and also my laptop broke down for a few days and i had to get it fixed. ergo, this super short chap. it was originally supposed to be 10-12 K bc a Lot Happens, you know, but it I did that then I wouldn't have updated until like December. basically, i split it into two parts, so the next chap will be a continuation of this and be written from mark's POV.
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are super, super appreciated. (i'm sorry i haven't responded to the ones from ch 5 or the ones in my cc, but i promise i reread them a ton and they mean so much to me. as soon as i'm freer, and have more energy, i'll respond, i swear!) 
> 
> twitter: crashbang12  
> cc: crashbang12


	7. i.vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, y'all! School is K-I-L-L-I-N-G me. Please send me prayers! I need them!
> 
> Also: I very much apologize for not replying to comments from chapters five and six. It's almost 2 AM here so I'm heading to bed but I swear tomorrow I'll finally, finally reply. I've honestly been rlly busy and lacked the emotional energy required to reply, but I love reading comments so much and gives me so much motivation and I'm dying to reply ASAP. (This goes for my CCs, too! I'll reply as soon as I can on those as well. Oh and my Twitter as well.)
> 
> Also also: this chapter is not for the weak-hearted. It does contain quite a bit of violence. (This is a war story and a Pacific Rim AU, after all). I've tried my best to be tasteful about it and I don't /think/ any one would have a problem with it but I'm not sure so this is a head's up just in case. The next few chapters will be a lot tamer in comparison, I promise. 
> 
> Anyway. Happy reading! Lmk what y'all think.

Navis used to be called Jaegars. The Germans invented them, but the concept was introduced in Seoul, in South Korea, right before the first wave of attacks hit Asia. Mark remembers the blinking lights, the glassy black podium, his grandfather seated on the stage on a black-velvet chair: a makeshift king. ‘Our way to fight the hurricane,’ the man introducing the idea had said. Mark doesn’t remember his name. His face. He just remembers the way his grandfather’s sneer—only partly hidden underneath his silver whiskers—melted into a look of open-mouthed surprise when the designs of the Jaeger prototypes appeared on the display: They were hulking mechatrons, beasts forged out of metal, as demon-like as the Acra that appeared from the Rifts.

Beat fire with fire, the man had said. Our first and last line of defense.

He had been right and wrong. The Jaegers were too bulky, and their nuclear reactors used too much energy. In the end, the Council of Five commissioned a new prototype and named it the Navi. That had been almost nine years ago. Since then? Since then Navis became even sleeker and faster, relying on quantum chips, on graphene and Kevlar, on crypto-pods instead of nuclear reactors, on a number of things that Mark doesn’t understand—won’t ever understand—but he trusts the science. Trusts that this will work.

This _has_ to work.

“Minhyung. Thanks for coming.” 

Mark blinks and looks up. He’s currently sitting inside the battle-staff area of a Boeing AH2-61. Park Sooyoung—a member of Seulgi and Joohyun’s squadron—is in the cockpit, flying them as close to the Rift as she can, and Baekhyun-hyung is in the AirPod room, checking his Navi. Mark would have joined him, but Captain Kim had tugged him to the side and Mark can’t say no to his Captain. Besides, Mark needs him right now. He can’t hear the wind outside, nor can he see the dark, mottled black expanse of the ocean, but it’s hard to…to forget what had happened the last time that he’d—that he’d been inside one of these planes. “No worries, hyung,” he says, but he can’t keep the nervous edge out of his tone, brittle like cracked ice. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Captain Kim looks at him, a small wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. Then, he settles down on a chair, still making eye-contact. Mark doesn’t squirm – he’s not a kid anymore – but he can’t suppress the chill that creeps up his spine. “Your Mate,” Captain Kim says finally, and Mark blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. “How is he doing?”

“Um…” Mark’s hand flutters to his chest before he can stop himself. His Bond Mark is aching in a peculiar way. It’s not painful, but it’s like a steel anvil is strapped to his chest, like he’s sinking. “I—He’s good. Yeah. Well, sort of.”

Captain Kim continues watching him.

“I mean…” Mark looks down at his hands. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the way the moonlight had decorated the garden in sweeps of silver, like something out of a fairytale. “I… I actually don’t know—like, how do you…” He takes a deep breath. He tries to find the right words. “…How do you, like, _break through_?”

There is the steady thrumming of the generator and the whistling whoosh of the wind. Captain Kim’s eyes are the clearest amber that Mark has ever seen. He has never had any secrets. Maybe that’s why he’s Captain. “You ask to be let in,” he says patiently, only a touch of yesterday’s grief in his voice; the rest swims in his irises. “And you wait. It’s not about _breaking_.”

“Oh,” Mark says, a little disappointed. “Right.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care about him, Minhyung?”

Isn’t that what Donghyuck had asked Mark last night? What he keeps asking? Mark swallows, hard. He doesn’t know how to answer him or Captain Kim. Here he is, in his first mission since the crash, about to search for Bae Joohyun’s body before the Snatchers can find it, and he doesn’t know why he cares about the Trainee. So, instead, Mark asks, “Why did you care about _me_ , hyung? All those years ago? You should have sent me home, but you didn’t. You let me follow you. You…You taught me so, so much.” _I still can’t thank you enough, hyung._

Captain Kim smiles softly. He’s not a soft man, not really, not when he’s so Alpha, but there are moments where the edges of his being blur; when the hardness of war melts into something resembling gentleness. “There was—there is—a light in you, Minhyung. It’s very rare in Fliers, especially old, tired ones like me. I’ve always been drawn to it, to you.”

Mark blushes, looking away, feeling suddenly very inadequate, very undeserving of this praise. “Hyung—”

“Don’t deny it. You know I’m not sentimental, Minhyung, and I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t believe it were true.” Captain Kim tilts his head. “If anything… I think your light has grown even _stronger_ these past few weeks.”

“What—what do you mean?” Mark stutters.

“You don’t know?” A sly smile this time, a touch amused. “I think I ought to leave it to you to discover for yourself.” At Mark’s increasingly distressed look, he lets out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. “Figuring out is half the fun of life. And we need all the fun we can get in times like these.”

“Sure,” Mark mutters, privately wondering why Captain Kim delights in his cryptic adages so much.

Another short laugh. Then, Captain Kim stands up. He isn’t tall—well, Mark isn’t either, if he’s being completely honest—but he has a certain gravity to him, a certain authority, that commands respect. “Perhaps,” he says, his amusement still warming his words, rich like brandy, “once this mission is over, we can go for a drink—you and I—and you can weasel my exact thoughts out of me.”

“And you’d want me to pay, right?” Mark asks before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Of course.” Captain Kim’s eyes twinkle. “I can drink an entire bottle of soju, just so you know.”

“I’ll save my pension just for you, hyung.”

§§•§§

Mark’s Navi is old-fashioned. It’s not a Jaegar—it’s not a mechatron, for one, and it’s not nearly as big or as gaudy or as slow to power up—but it’s not like the sleek, black ‘Ironman’-esque bodysuit that Baekhyun has or the white-and-gold armor that Captain Kim uses. Their Navis are fully functional by themselves. Mark’s Navi is one half of a pair and until the other Navi is fully functional, his will only be at half-power at best. Still, this is just a simple search mission. He doesn’t need to be able to fight any Acra. He only needs to use his Navi’s extra-sensitive satellite connections and thermosensors to pick up traces of human activity around the South China Sea Rift.

“Why the Rift?” Mark asks once he’s suited up, his Navi unfamiliar on his Drivesuit: a cobalt-blue bodysuit laced with a water-proof neurosynaptic processer; the symbol of Korea is neatly embossed on the middle of the chest. (The Drivesuit sends his neurotransmission signals back to the Control Team in Ludus. Without those, they won’t be able to monitor him if/when he enters the Drift.) “Shouldn’t we be looking closer to Aberdeen, where Seulgi was found?”

“Seulgi’s last coordinates before her system went down were near the Rift, kid,” Baekhyun explains through the comm-link. He sounds unusually serious. “She’s still unconscious but the scientists at Ludus are guessing the storm drifted them off-path, toward the Rift.”

Oh. Mark’s hands turn clammy. “ETA?”

“Two minutes.”

“Okay,” Mark says. He takes a deep breath. “Got it.”

“You’re with Minseok, alright?”

Mark murmurs his assent. He’d been there while Captain Kim had made their plans. He knows why they’re putting him with the Captain. It’s his first mission. It makes sense. (It had hurt his pride, too, but his pride isn’t important. Not right now. Not with Joohyun missing, presumed dead until further notice.)

“Hey, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Seulgi’s going to be here the entire time. Something goes wrong, you head back to her.”

_No,_ Mark thinks, and it’s not about pride. It’s about loyalty. _I’m staying, hyung, for all of it_. “Yeah, got it.”

“I mean it, Mark.”

Mark swallows, hard. “I know you do.”

Baekhyun doesn’t reply and Mark starts to think that he’s turned off his comm. Then, the Rift starts to appear in Mark’s world-view: a thin black line cutting through the sea, like a sketch drawn hastily in a notebook corner. And Baekhyun murmurs a quick, a transient, “Love you, kid” before they start descending. If there hadn’t been noise-blockers embedded in Mark’s Navi, he might have missed it.

§§•§§

Mark doesn’t enter the Drift. It tugs at the back of his mind, much like the Bond Mark on his chest tugs at his heart, but he resists sinking into temptation. If he enters the Drift without a partner he can tether to, to keep him grounded, he might not return. (It’s happened to Fliers before. To Choi Seunghyun, one of the first Fliers in Ludus, to Kim Yubin, to Lee Donghae, to…to…so, so many.) Instead, he shifts his Navi from auto-to-manual and guides it until he’s almost skimming the water, trailing behind Captain Kim. Baekhyun hyung is to their right, almost five-hundred feet away, scouting for Joohyun.

They’re not near the threshold of the Rift yet. Right now, all Mark can see is the ocean. The waves are hungry, restless animals. The crests resemble the spines of shark and the troughs are the gaps between teeth. Sharp enough to cut. Sharp enough to bleed. Mark’s not a fan of swimming, although his grandfather had forced him to learn. (Now he’s glad he learned. If only because it meant he could carry a drowning boy to shore, if only because it meant he could rip off the metal cage sheathed around his ribs, and save him.)

“Do you see anything, Minhyung?”

“Nothing yet, hyung.”

Nothing except for yellow noise on the edge of one of his infrared sensors. But it’s probably an animal—a shark or a cluster of plankton or something equally innocuous. His sensors are currently tuned for human signatures and the only people it’s picking up is Captain Kim and Baekhyun. Mark’s chest tightens and this time, it has nothing to do with separation anxiety or his Bond. This time, it’s the nerves behind a mission that’s becoming increasingly difficult. After all, the South China Sea is a vast entity, a starving one at that, and Bae Joohyun was a small woman. The water could have claimed her. Or perhaps the Snatchers already did. Over the years they’d grown increasingly resourceful, finding fallen Fliers and Pilots with stolen trackers and selling their gear to the mafia families in Hong Kong and Shanghai and even Seoul.

Mark prays they didn’t.

At least the ocean gave you dignity. The Snatchers weren’t so generous; the mafia families even less so.

“What about now?” Captain Kim asks once they’ve crossed another two miles. His voice is taut now, as if he knows what Mark is thinking, as if he’s already suspecting the worst.

Mark tries his best not to sound apologetic. He exhales shakily. “Nothing, hyung.”

He _feels_ more than he hears the hitch in Captain Kim’s breath. Then, the Captain asks, voice low, “What about you, Baekhyun?”

“Sorry, Captain.” It’s rare that Baekhyun calls Captain Kim by anything other than Minnie or Minseok. “I’m not picking up anything, either.”

Captain Kim inhales sharply. “We have six miles left. Keep to it.”

§§•§§

They keep to it. Miles three to four pose nothing at all, not even a hint of a human. At mile five, Baekhyun spots a fleck of red on his radar, but it turns out to be a wandering seabird, flying far from home. Mark is disappointed; Captain Kim turns even grimmer. At mile six, Mark starts to give up. At mile seven, he’s about to ask out loud if they should think about splitting and maybe covering more ground individually, but then a small blip appears on his own trackers. His Navi starts warming up, as it always does when it starts seeing a potential threat—except this time, instead of a black dot indicating the presence of an Acra, Mark spots a red mass 0.34 miles South of his current position. A red mass that looks suspiciously like a _human body_. And if it’s red, it’s _warm_ , and if it’s warm then it means that, maybe, just maybe, against all reason, this day won’t end with a funeral, after all.

Mark isn’t sure what ticks off Captain Kim that he’s found something. Maybe he’s breathing shakily. Maybe he’s not breathing at all. Either way, Captain Kim speaks up, tone insistent, desperate, “What is it, Minhyung? Do you see anything?”

“Y–Yeah,” Mark says, something fluttering in his chest. “Yeah, hyung, I think I found her—”

“Where? _Minhyung, where_?”

Mark sends him his coordinates with shaking fingers. The engines in Captain Kim’s Navi roars. For a second, Mark thinks he’s going to race off on his own, but then Baekhyun’s voice, sharp and authoritative, cuts through their excitement. “Captain, it’s in the Rift.”

Before Mark can even express his shock, Captain Kim is saying, some of that grimy grimness returning in his tone, “How do you know?”

“I sensed something, too, so I sent a drone.” Baekhyun takes a deep breath. “We’re not cleared to enter the Rift, Captain.”

A crystal-cold pause. Mark almost shivers. “Are you backing out on me, Flier Byun?”

“Never, Captain,” Baekhyun says, sounding wounded. “You _know_ that.”

Captain Kim says something Mark never expected . “Turn off your comms,” he replies. “Turn off the two-way cameras, too.”

“Minseok, we _can’t—_ ”

“If you want to follow the rules,” Captain Kim says quietly, too quietly, “I understand. If you want to follow _me_ , do as I say.”

“If we turn them off, it’s not just Ludus who won’t be able to communicate with us. _We_ won’t be able to talk to each other, either; you know that, Minseok!”

“Then,” Captain Kim says dryly, punctuating the word, “it was a pleasure, Flier Byun.”

Baekhyun curses. “What about the kid?” he asks, frustrated. “This was supposed to be recon only!”

“Minhyung,” Captain Kim says calmly, “I’m afraid he’s right. You’re not ready yet. You should go back; you can wait with Seulgi.”

“No,” Mark insists, even as his heart begins to speed, even as sweat rolls down the nape of his neck. “I _am_ ready, hyung, and I’m coming with the both of you.”

“Kid, please—”

“I’m part of this team, too!” Mark cringes internally at how whiny he sounds, how petulant, but he can’t help it. They don’t understand. He can’t let them go on his own and sleep at night. (He can’t already sleep but that’s beside the point.) He _needs_ to be with his team. “And I’ve—I’ve been training for months. I can do this. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine.”

_Besides_ , he wants to add, _you can’t really stop me. Not now_.

“Well,” Captain Kim says finally, echoing Mark’s thoughts, “you _are_ already here.”

Baekhyun curses again.

“But are you sure, Minhyung?” Captain Kim asks.

“Yes,” Mark says.

And that’s that.

“Okay,” Captain Kim says. “I want you to use your sensors to lead the way. Baekhyun and I will guard your rear.”

Baekhyun curses, but then he acquiesces with a huff. He is the first one to turn off his comm, followed by Captain Kim. Then it’s Mark left, and if he turns on the two-way connection, he knows he’ll hear frantic yelling from the control panel at Ludus to stay on line.

With shaking fingers, he ends the connection, too.

§§•§§

Flying without the comm is like walking in the dark. Sort of.

It’s just disconcerting to not hear Captain Kim’s voice, anymore; it almost feels like he’s lost a map. It’s equally disconcerting to not be following the Captain anymore, either. Baekhyun hyung has always been in the back—he’s second-in-command, after all, and his expertise in defense maneuvers and his Navi’s quick escape-time makes him best suited for rear guard—but Captain Kim is their perennial North Star. Mark is used to relying on him. Not being able to do that is more than a little terrifying (heart-palpitating levels of terrifying), but he’s been begging to be allowed on missions for _months_ , and he won’t let fear halt him now.

So, he leads.

So, he takes them to the edge of the Rift.

§§•§§

Mark has seen Rifts before.

Most of the time they appear in his dreams. In his nightmares. Like a whisper in the dark. Like a muted sound in an orchestra. Nothingness. That’s the best way to describe it. The center of the Rift is looking into the gaping eyes of an abyss. It’s darkness so deep and profound it seems like the end of the world–or the beginning of it. The first page in a novel or the last line. Raw, unfiltered. If he closes his eyes, if he allows himself to fall, will he ever reach the bottom? The answer: He doesn’t know.

(Funnily enough, without the Drift, there is nothing to keep that thought at bay, to tie him to something—to anything—life-like.)

But that’s the center of the Rift and this isn’t the center. This is the edge. And the edge? The edge is more interesting. (Perhaps more horrifying.)

It’s not pitch-black. It is color receding into dimness. It’s the edge of a prism that catches light. There’s purple here—purple like the mold Bae Joohyun had found a few weeks ago—but also heliotrope and slate and ivory; a rainbow, if rainbows were warning signs, or a bed of roses if this were a summer in some faraway European country untouched by war. But this _is_ war. The beginning of it, anyway. Mark loathes it: Sometimes, behind beauty, there is blood waiting to be spilled. (Maybe, in that way, it reminds him of Donghyuck: all sharp claws and wounded animal and fierce, fierce bravery. But Donghyuck had been alive above all else and this is the antithesis of life.)

(Why does he keep _thinking_ about him?)

_Stop it_ , Mark tells himself firmly, annoyed at the Bond for once, annoyed that even in the middle of a mission, it does not manage to leave him alone. Y _ou’re here for the mission. You’re here for Joohyun_.

Joohyun: Captain Kim’s first protege, who he’s willing to risk breaking the rules for. (And Captain Kim never breaks the rules.) Joohyun: one of the most internationally revered Pilots of their generation. Joohyun: the leader of a fractured team waiting against all hope for her return—Seulgi and Sooyoung and Seungwan and Yerim. Mark owes it to her, to her team, and to his Captain to do his damned job.

He keeps his eye on his trackers. 0.34 miles turns into 0.30 turns into 0.22 turns into 0.15 turns into 0.07 and then, finally, Mark spots her. Joohyun. Or rather, he spots her body, collapsed on top of a gray, rotting log. Her head is face-down on the log; her helmet is missing, and her dark hair spills over the log and into the water. Mark’s heart doesn’t quite leap into his throat, but the relief is palpable, even for him. They found her. Her signals are still red, and she might still be _alive_. Unconscious, probably, but alive.

If Mark’s comm were turned on, he would yell out, “Hyung! I found her!”

His comm’s not turned on, so he does the next best thing:

He speeds toward the log, intent on grabbing her body and taking her to Boeing AH2-61 where Sooyoung is waiting with a plethora of medical supplies. The mission is almost done. The mission is almost _done_. Once they return to Ludus with Joohyun, he will treat Captain Kim to as many bottles of soju as he wants and he will go back to the rooftop with his handwritten note and he will wait for Lee Donghyuck and everything that isn’t in place, every muddled little detail, will finally come together and it will be okay, _it will be okay—_

Mark slows his Navi until he is floating inches above Bae Joohyun and the log that has perhaps kept her from death. This close up, he can see the way her arms curl around the piece of wood, the way she is so very tiny and helpless and yet, somehow, so utterly persistent. How long? How long has she been drifting, waiting for help?

_Help is here, noona_ , Mark thinks, wishing he could say it out loud. _I’m here. I’m gonna take you back home_.

Gently—as gently as he can manage, anyway—he grabs the edge of her shoulder. It is limp. He almost balks at that, but steadies his breath. Ideally, he would call for a medical carrier instead of doing it himself, but this is supposed to be a covert mission and his comm link is turned off and a second’s delay could be the difference between her waking up and her wasting away. Carefully, Mark starts pulling her up, intent on carrying her toward the fighter jet.

He never makes it that far.

Mark hears it before he sees it. A rumble. A rumble that is not an earthquake. The rumble that is the purring of a pleased kraken.

The log extends, expands, and shoots outward. Bae Joohyun’s body falls into the ocean. Mark dives, trying to catch her, but then he realizes that her body hasn’t fallen into the ocean—that, in fact, the ocean is not actually the ocean, but is instead gray, mottled skin, the color of a dried scab, the color of the still-healing bruise on his face. The color of an Acra’s tentacle-arm.

And the kraken is not a kraken, but an Acra.

Stupidly enough, for a single second, Mark freezes. His heart seems to expand in the empty space between his two ribs, sucking up oxygen and blood and nutrients, until he can’t breathe without fear of it exploding. It has been so long since he has seen an Acra. So long since he’s been close to its reptilious scales, to its shedding skin; it’s so, so large and he is so, so close that he can’t even spot its eye.

He had missed the forest for a tree.

§§•§§

The thing about a second is that it’s not _really_ a second. In war, it’s a multitude of infinities; it’s the silence before the undoing. Mark knows this. He is a soldier before he is anything else. Sometimes, when he’s alone in his room in his barracks, waiting for sleep, knowing it won’t come, he counts the seconds and waits for the silence; it never came then.

Mark waits for the silence now and knows that it will come. Knows that he already wasted a second.

Quickly, as quickly as he’s ever moved, he raises his Navi’s hand and fires a warning shot. A bright crimson light arcs into the air—the international signal for _danger_. For his hyungs. For Seulgi.

Not for him.

He’s too close. Too late.

He finally spots the Acra’s eyes—yellow sclerae, crimson irises. Almost two stories above him. Water crashes as the Acra rises, obscuring Mark’s view of the Rift. The Acra blocks out the sun, too, and most of the sky. (Oh God. It’s got to be a Category Four, at least.) Mark’s breath catches in his throat like a snare catching a hare; and this time, when he thinks of his Omega, raging and seething, bleeding internally on an invisible memory, Mark doesn’t chastise himself for it. Now, Donghyuck isn’t the only one caught in a trap. Now, Mark is, too.

Mark risks reopening the comm.

“Mark,” and it’s Baekhyun hyung and he’s panicking, “Mark, Mark, oh God, _get out of there—_ ”

Mark closes his eyes. The Acra isn’t moving. Its attention is fixed on him—he feels it. If he moves… He’ll shift that attention. “Hyung,” Mark murmurs, so softly that he can’t quite hear it, “don’t tell my brother I died like this.”

“No, kid, _please—_ ”

Suddenly, Mark wishes he had a list of things he’d written for his hyungs. I love you. I’ll miss you. I’ll never forget how you helped me. Please don’t forget me. Please carry on. Please don’t forget me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so much. It’s not your fault, not really. I knew what I signed up for. I knew and I did it, anyway, because it’s the only thing I know how to do. If you’re going to have a funeral, can you leave lavender on my grave? It was my mother’s favorite. I’ll really miss your jokes, hyung. I’m sorry I left you, too. I never meant to. I never wanted to.

And, always, always, it comes back to this: I love you.

Mark opens his mouth. Three words. He can say three words. There’s enough time for that. There has to be. “Hyung,” he says shakily, “I lo—”

But then it comes:

The silence.

§§•§§

Even the wind stops, holding his breath. Even the ocean, briny and drunk on power, stops moving. Everything is still. Everything holds its breath.

_Click_.

Mark flicks on his shields.

_Hiss_.

The Acra opens its mouth and, with a slimy, charcoal-colored tongue as long as a car—it licks its rows of rotting, decaying teeth. Its eyes focus on Mark. There is hunger in them.

_Clack_.

Mark shuts off the power in his backup thrusters. Reroutes it to his propulsory units. He can’t run. He won’t make it. At least this way he can—he’ll have a few more moments maybe.

_Roar_.

Is it a roar? Or is it the sound of two mountains colliding into each other? So loud it’s bone-shattering. So loud Mark can’t hear the static in his comm. So loud he thinks he’ll go deaf.

The Acra roars once more, for good measure, and then starts _running_. As it runs walls of water crash behind it, like Poseidon lost control of his domain, like the moon is no longer in control of the tides; and if it’s not the Acra’s tentacles or teeth that kill Mark, it will be the ocean, finally succumbing to its base impulses, finally losing control.

Mark lines up his pulse launchers. _Aim for the whites of their eyes_. That’s what his brother had always said. _Never waste a shot_.

He doesn’t waste the shot.

The Acra lunges and he fires, straight into the yellow of its eyes. Yellow laser beams—almost as hot as the surface of the sun—hit the Acra’s eyes and its roar turns into a screech so blood-curdling that Mark inadvertently takes a step back, his Navi vibrating.

But the damage is done, because when the Acra finally stops screaming and thrashing, Mark spots the blood—thick and viscous like mucus—pouring in gallons down its deformed face and sliding down its thick, hardened chest until it hits the South China Sea with the force of dropped missiles. And oh God, if only Mark had missiles at his disposal, if only he had access to his sword—but his partner Navi isn’t here and all he has are his shields and his thrusters and trackers and his lasers. That’s not enough for a Category One, much less a Four or Five.

_I don’t have to win. I just have to delay him_.

“Mark, run,” Baekhyun says in his ear, still pleading.

Mark can’t say those three words. Can’t say anything, really. He’s run out of time. He turns off his comm.

_I’m sorry, hyung. I’m really, really sorry._

He fires again, aiming for the other eye.

The Acra lashes out its arms and Mark skitters to his right, dodging it by an inch, maybe less. His laser his the Acra’s scaled chest and bounces back. He has to dodge that, too—

Fuck. _Fuck_. It got him. One of his jet thrusters. Not Russian made so it doesn’t explode, just disintegrates, but his Navi turns hot and starts beeping. The AI comes on promptly and repeats, “Malfunction found; malfunction found” until Mark overrides the system and shuts it down.

He’s got three thrusters left. 

That’s—that’s not the _worst_ thing—

The Acra raises its right arm now. For a second Mark thinks it’s going to try and hit his Navi again. His mouth falls open when it doesn’t. When, instead of jabbing him, the arm starts transforming, shedding and molting skin like transforming larvae; the arm grows thicker, as thick as ten tree stumps stacked on top of each other, bulbous and bulging out at the ends, like an overgrown radish—or, no, that’s so stupid—what the fuck is he thinking—because that’s clearly, clearly a _club_ , a makeshift weapon attached to its appendage. Mark’s mouth dries. He’s _been_ afraid but now he’s—now he’s not even sure if they’ll find his body or whether he’ll even _have_ a body for them to find. Acras aren’t supposed to do this. They’re supposed to be static, angry, unchanging demons; they’re not supposed to modify themselves or attack by surprise or—

_Can this even be called a Category Four? A Five?_

“Minhyung! Minhyung, run!”

Mark’s mouth falls open. For a disorienting second, he thinks Captain Kim is talking to him through the comm, but no, his voice is weak and feeble, battling the walls of waves crashing down around them, battling the wind and the yells of the Acra; it’s human and it’s raw and it’s _right beside_ Mark. When Mark whirls around, balancing unsteadily on his three thrusters, he finds Captain Kim arcing toward him, flying so quickly he’s a smidgeon in Mark’s vision, but his voice is discernible:

“Now, Minhyung! Run now!”

_Where?_ Mark wants to ask. _Where the fuck do I go, hyung?_

But in a moment of clarity, in a moment of eureka, Mark spots his escape like a bird spotting the end of its long journey home. It hits him suddenly and precisely where, exactly, Captain Kim wants him to go:

The Rift, glittering and gleaming like a grove of hidden treasures.

§§•§§

Captain Kim triggers one of his bombs.

The explosion is large and loud and it provides enough cover for Mark to duck through the billowing flames and the crashing waves, through the Acra’s drab, dusty limbs and its club-like hands, right through the crook between its arm and its abdomen, and into the other side: into the Rift.

Like a ricocheting bullet, Mark’s momentum and his lack of balance prevent him from gripping onto the edge of the Rift; he falls with the grace of a giant into the chasm that defines the boundaries of their worlds. For a few minutes, he is blanketed by darkness, and it is as if he is drowning. He can’t tell which way is up or which is is down, can’t differentiate between East or West, North or South. There is only inevitability and the beating bird-wings feeling of fear and the awfulness of imprisonment: a womb that is a tomb. He falls and falls, and right before the end—or what he thinks is the end, anyway—something inside of him awakens; the Bond Mark on his chest glows, like a beacon, like a lighthouse spilling onto a bay, asking politely for its ships to come back home and for its sailors to return to safety.

Mark, stuck inside of his Navi, rests his hand, on-top of the Drivesuit, where he knows the Bond lies: right above his thoracic cavity.

His fingers don’t burn. They do warm, though. The heat is surprising and yet gratifying. And somehow, somehow, the warmth has a voice; and that voice sounds like the Omega he fought on that rooftop and in the training room, like the Omega he comforted in that bathroom, like the Omega he tried to embrace last night, like the Omega he left a note for this morning. Like Lee Donghyuck.

_Get the fuck up, Mark Lee. Get the fuck up_.

Mark closes his eyes _._

_Okay, Lee Donghyuck._

§§•§§

The voice dies down. (The warmth remains.)

Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe he’s just delusional—a product of unexpected battle, of the fear of dying. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

He reaches out and uses his thrusters to head in one direction. He doesn’t know which one. He only hopes that it’s not _down_. Mark makes purchase with something crumbling but solid, something close to rock. It has to be the walls of the Rift. He almost cries in relief. At least this is familiar. Real. He tilts his head up and turns on his AI. Miraculously, it’s still connected to his Navi.

“Is this the way up?” Mark asks. His comm has since turned into static. The beeping is all he can hear except for his ragged breathing. “Which way do I go?”

“What is up, sir?”

Mark licks his dry, cracked lips. “Up is where Seoul is,” he explains. “Give me directions to Seoul.”

The AI _whirrs_ and _whirrs_ for so long that Mark fears it’s gone completely haywire. “Up is correct,” it says finally when Mark’s begun to give up hope. “Up… _is_ where Seoul is. And Sao Paulo. And Tunis as well.”

Right. Right. “Transfer all power to thrusters,” Mark tells the AI. “We’re going back home.”

Then, still uncertain but with warm emitting from his chest, Mark goes up, propelled by his thrusters, alone except for his Navi. And as he goes up, slowly, slowly, he begins to hear the sounds of a battle: of bombs going off and off the thunderous boom of waves slamming back into the ocean and of Captain Kim’s voice, hoarse and thin, strung out like a man waiting for his time to come, “Where’s Minhyung? Do you see him? Do you think he’s—”

Mark releases another arc of light. It is pure white.

Captain Kim spots it. He’s so far away Mark can’t read the expression on his face, but he imagines it might be relief; relief so longed for that it almost hurts. “Hyung,” Mark says, even if Captain Kim won’t be able to hear him, “hyung, I’m still here.”

_I’m still alive_.

Funnily enough, stupidly enough, heart-wrenchingly enough, the _Acra_ hears Mark. Or maybe it doesn’t hear him. Maybe it sees him or maybe it senses him or maybe, maybe the universe is just playing a stupid fucking prank on all of them. Whatever the case, the Acra turns around. The ocean parts in its path as it makes its way to Mark, as if the Acra is Moses; and isn’t that fitting? Demons turning into prophets. Everything’s fucked, anyway. Turned topsy-turvy. Turned upside down.

Two stories of demon flesh and demon extremities hurtling toward Mark with the speed of an accelerating missile. His shields are battered from the fall, from colliding into the walls of the Rift. He hadn’t run before, but he doesn’t have a choice this time; he doesn’t have anything to work with, so he turns on his thrusters again and flies back toward the Rift, toward its abyss, but he doesn’t make it in time.

The Acra’s limbs crash onto his Navi.

He doesn’t fall as much as he slams into the ocean. His shields fluctuate and then fall. The graphene that makes up his armor ruptures. Water falls into his mouth, brackish, tasting like… like salt… sour and bloody. His blood. He’s bleeding. He’s submerged. Everything is dark. Dark and wet and cold.

Water and blood race through his mouth and down his trachea. Into his lungs. His Bond burns or maybe that’s just his lungs, submerged and drowning in liquid.

He’s drowning.

“Systems haywire. Systemshaywir–sishtems aywire–wire—wi–”

_Yeah_ , Mark thinks, even as he chokes, even as he thrashes and writhes in the sea’s embrace, water clinging to his nostrils, to the cilia lining his bronchioles, rushing inside of him as if he were only ever an open cavity waiting to be filled, _yeah, yeah, I’m fucked_.

§§•§§

Air. Air. He needs air.

Needs air.

Needs to breathe… Needs. Needs. He needs…

Needs…

§§•§§

Hands clutching his shoulders. Hands on his chest. Something else on his chest. Something like vomit. Mark peers at the face swimming in front of him. Clear amber eyes. Cat eyes. Narrow shoulders. White-and-gold. An angel? A star? North star? Someone he should… Someone he should know…

“Minhyung,” the someone says, and _oh_ , it’s Captain Kim, “help is coming.”

“Where’m I?” Mark murmurs. Cold. Wet. Dark.

“On the edge of the Rift.” In the ocean, then, right in front of the abyss. At least they’re on solid ground—if the Rift can even be called solid ground.

“Don’t wanna be here, hyung.”

“Shh,” Captain Kim says, hugging him carefully, “shh, it’s okay. You’re with me.”

“Hyung,” Mark says, “why aren’t we dead?”

Something shines in Captain Kim’s eyes. Stars. Maybe tears. “The Acra’s feeding,” Captain Kim whispers, voice hoarse, broken. “We have some time.”

“Feeding?” Mark tries sitting up, but he can’t. Still, he grips Captain Kim’s chest. Why the fuck isn’t he wearing his helmet? “On who? On Baekhyun? On hyung?”

“No.”

“Then on—” Mark’s voice breaks. Oh. Oh, so he… “You gave her up?” he asks, disbelieving.

“The living take priority,” Captain Kim says. Words clipped but voice trembling.

Mark blinks. His eyes burn. Not with tears. With salt-water. He’s glad he can’t see it. Glad he doesn’t have to watch as the Acra tears into Joohyun’s body. Why hadn’t it fed sooner? It’d been so close to her already.

“Hyung,” Mark whispers, “do you think this was a set-up? A trap?”

Captain Kim’s amber eyes turn hollow. Like looking into a kaleidoscope and only seeing shadows. “I don’t know,” he says.

Is that a yes? Mark tries again. “Why aren’t you flying us up?”

“I ran out of fuel.”

“Oh.” Mark grabs him again. “You should have let me die, hyung.”

“No, Minhyung.” Anger, finally, in Captain Kim’s eyes. “You are not allowed to die here. That is an order.”

“Hyung—”

“Minhyung,” Captain Kim says quietly, “this is my fault. I will take care of it. I promise you.”

“’S not your fault.” Mark squeezes his eyes shut. “If I had just kept on falling—”

“Minhyung, no!” Captain Kim cradles his face. “After your brother…”

“No,” Mark says, “no, don’t say it.”

“After your brother,” the Captain continues, ignoring him, squeezing his face harder, so hard it almost hurts, “I made a promise to my wife that I would… that I would never allow another one of my team members to be hurt in battle again. Do you understand?”

“It’s too late, hyung,” Mark says. Blood on his face. Down his mouth. He can’t move his hands. “Let me go.”

“No. No, never.”

“Hyung, please.”

“Minhyung, I order you to be quiet.”

“You have a wife,” Mark protests. “Minsoo noona. She’s a marine biologist. She’s waiting for you in Busan. She loves you, hyung. Let me go.”

Captain Kim’s grip loosens. He strokes Mark’s chin with his thumb. “And you,” he says softly, fondness creeping into his voice, and if it weren’t for the pain and the cold and the dark, Mark might think they were back in Ludus, sitting in the cafeteria, eating kimchi-fried-rice and laughing about something inane, “have a short-tempered Mate in Ludus waiting for you, too, I think.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Mark replies. “’S different.”

“He might,” Captain Kim says, “one day.”

Mark closes his eyes. “When is help coming, hyung?”

“Soon, Minhyung.”

“Okay,” Mark says. “Okay.”

“Minhyung?”

“Hyung?”

“If anything goes wrong…”

_Everything’s already gone wrong_ , Mark thinks.

“… Just know that I love you.”

Those three words. It’s always those three damned words. “You’re gonna be okay,” Mark murmurs. “I pray for you every night.”

Something splashes on his face. It might be tears. It might be blood. “I know,” Captain Kim says. “Tell me a prayer.”

“Let me go, hyung,” Mark says once again. _Let me sleep. I’m not worth it_.

“A prayer, Minhyung, please.”

“I… I can’t remember any.” Not here. Not now. Not on the brink.

“Make something up.”

Mark’s eyes flutter open. He is in the ocean, sitting on the edge of the Rift. If he focuses on the sky, it would almost feel like he’s on top of seaside rocks on a beach, the water lapping below him like a nippy pet. As it is, he can’t pretend. “Light,” Mark says finally, and if he focuses on the sky, he can think about _him_ , about a boy who looked like a painting in the setting sun, “give me light, give me light and… and… ”

“And peace,” Captain Kim continues for him, still stroking his face. He’s never this gentle. “Good job, Minhyung.”

Mark keeps his eyes on the sky. It is periwinkle-blue, beautiful and balmy. But the water is unforgiving. He must be dying if Captain Kim is insisting on him praying. Captain Kim doesn’t do prayers. Doesn’t do religion. He’s a… Mark isn’t sure what he is. Maybe this is the right time to ask. Maybe it isn’t. It’s hard to tell when his mind is a smudged pair of glasses and his memories are mere blurs.

“It was worth it,” Mark tells him, because he doesn’t want him to grieve. “I don’t regret it. Any of it. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“Good.” Mark swallows another bout of blood. Maybe he’s been swallowing blood. He can’t tell. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t if you keep reminding me.”

Mark almost smiles. “You’re so…so stubborn, hyung.”

“Don’t go to sleep,” Captain Kim tells him. This time it’s not an order. Mark can tell. “Stay a little longer.”

“Hyung…”

“Help is coming,” Captain Kim repeats. “Stay until then.”

Mark opens his mouth, about to apologize, because his eyelids are already creeping shut and he doesn’t think he can breathe any longer, but then he spots it: the gray speck in the sky that is growing increasingly large. And the red blemish next to it. The Boeing AH2-61. And Baekhyun hyung. They’re here. They made it.

“You were right,” Mark whispers.

Captain Kim’s shoulders sag. Mark feels his full-body shudder. He wants to apologize. Wants to say he always believed him even if he didn’t. But he can do all of that later. Help’s come.

He can finally, finally close his eyes…

There’s a blinding flash of light. So blinding Mark’s eyes, on the precipice of closing, water. And then, there’s a whoosh of air, and Captain Kim is pressing him underneath himself, his arms ensconcing Mark, his back guarding Mark’s heart. Mark whispers, “Hyung?”

Captain Kim smiles softly.

Then comes the crack and the sickening sound of skin slicing and spine shattering. Captain Kim’s mouth falls open, his smile forgotten. Mark screams. Tries screaming. Nothing comes out.

From his peripheral vision he spots the spike sticking out of Captain Kim’s back. Gray. Mottled, just like the rest of the Acra. Briefly, he wonders if it had shifted again, purposely forming spikes instead of clubs, or if these were merely the leftovers of something far, far more powerful.

Before he can come up with a conclusion, everything, including Captain Kim, including the sight of his corpse, disappears into black; and this time, Mark welcomes the darkness.

§§•§§

He dreams of his mother making tea in their little apartment in Vancouver; the tea is poisonous and she collapses on the kitchen floor, clutching her neck, foaming at the mouth. He dreams of his father, faceless and nameless, sinking into the floor of his fancy office; he’s screaming as he goes. He dreams of his brother awaking from the dead, crawling out of cemetery soil, his eyes rolling into the back of his head; he dreams of roses turning into bone-white ashes and morgues that turn into playrooms for small children. He doesn’t dream of the Acra, but everyone in his dreams have yellow sclera and cornea; and everything he touches turns blood-red. He stops touching them but they still keep dying. He dreams and dreams and dreams until he isn’t sure what’s real and what’s not, until he’s almost convinced that the stars have fallen and the sea has dried and the earth has flooded; that the heavens have shrunk into a single, indefinite point and God is stuck there, a prisoner trapped in celestial light.

When he wakens, none of this is true, but it doesn’t feel like it.

§§•§§

Baekhyun hyung lies next to him. He, miraculously, is alive and warm and breathing. He is asleep, or he should be sleeping, but when Mark rests his hand on Baekhyun’s chest, Baekhyun’s eyes open and he twists his head. There are bags under his eyes. His skin is yellow. “Mark,” he says and he sounds so, so relieved that Mark almost, _almost_ doesn’t ask him.

Almost. “Did he really die, hyung?”

Baekhyun’s face doesn’t quite crumple, but it distorts: a ripple in a pond. That’s when Mark _knows_.

“Why him?” Mark asks.

“I don’t know, kid,” Baekhyun rasps. He slings an arm around Mark’s shoulder.

Mark wants to cry. He is too tired. He falls asleep again.

This time, he doesn’t dream.

§§•§§

“…No permanent injuries, thank God.”

Mark wakes up again. There is a team of doctors around him, dressed in white, like archangels. He looks for Doyoung but he’s not there. Baekhyun is, though. Baekhyun grips his hands and presses them to his chest delicately, as if he’s holding a bouqet of wild flowers. “Mark,” he says, “we’re back.”

“Where?”

“Seoul,” Baekhyun says. “In a hospital.”

“I’m alive?”

“You’re alive,” Baekhyun confirms.

“Where’re they burying hyung?” Mark asks, dry-eyed.

Baekhyun crushes Mark’s hands. Mark doesn’t tell him not to let go. “Busan,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

Mark nods. He looks at the doctors. “Let me out,” he says.

§§•§§

Minsoo sobs. It’s hard to watch. Harder still when Mark realizes she’s pregnant, her hands wrapped around her belly as she lowers her face on the mahogany casket. Most people get cremated; she’d insisted on a grave and no one had the heart to reject her. Captain Kim was a Flier, after all. The local church found a clear spot in their cemetery.

In the end, only Mark, Baekhyun, and Minsoo remain. The sun is setting. Mark’s legs stumble. Baekhyun only barely catches him.

He throws a rose in the grave, anyway. “Let there be light,” he says, closing his eyes, remembering. Amber eyes and hands holding him through the dark of the fight. It’s so painful he wants to scream. “Let there be peace.”

Even if there won’t be any for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing? IDK her. (JK. I'll edit over the next few days.)
> 
> Also. Yeah. This is our first death, guys. It's...not going to be our last, unfortunately. Buckle up.
> 
> (Poor, poor Mark.) 
> 
> That being said, the next chapter is back in Donghyuck's POV so it'll go back to Ludus and his training and stuff and hopefully be a respite from the heavy, heavy angst in this chapter. I hope you guys liked it, anyway, but as always, please, please let me know what you think; your comments are my biggest motivation, I swear. 
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading. (Also! We're almost at 800 kudos which is well, WOW. Thank you guys so, SO much.) 
> 
> Finally:
> 
> twitter: crashbang12  
> CuriousCat: crashbang12


	8. i.viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> There's only two more chapters until part one ends and part two begins. 
> 
> (The next chapter's a bit of a woozy, so be prepare, although I promise no one dies in that one.)

Donghyuck opens his eyes.

Except for the multicolored fairy lights that cast a soft rainbow on the wool rugs, the room is dark. It would be silent, too, if it weren’t for Jeno’s soft snoring and the quiet shuffling of Heejin’s sheets. He tracks her restless form before he flicks his gaze downward, toward Hyunjin; the other girl sleeps with her limbs flayed outward, like a starfish uncurling on a sandy beach. 

Kicking off his sheets, he stumbles out of bed.

Sweat rolls down his neck. An aching, awful pressure builds in his chest—almost as if he’s in Lake Sejeong again, brackish water gushing into his lungs. What the fuck?

He drags himself out of Bunk C4 and into the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom smells like wet socks and mildew, but it’s not like he expected anything better. Besides. He can’t be bothered by the smell, not now.

“Fuck,” Donghyuck mutters. He yanks up his nightshirt and peers into the mirror. “What the hell—”

The stupid-ass sun on his chest is glowing softly. (Mark fucking Lee just can’t leave him alone, can he?) Despite himself, Donghyuck’s breath hitches. The light resembles the fireflies he used to catch during humid, hazy summer nights in Jeju. He can almost smell the lingering smoke from his grandmother’s briquette and see the windswept palms and the gray, rough, Fisherman’s-hands bark of the shedding pine trees that surrounded their cottage. For a second, his stomach churns; he bites hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood and tasting its salty-sweetness. But even the taste of his blood can’t quell the homesickness.

He shakes his head— _stop thinking about them_ —and touches the center of the sun. Immediately, the bathroom vanishes. In its place is somewhere dark and directionless. He can’t smell or feel anything, but fear trickles in his belly: a gnawing, painful hunger. Except it isn’t Donghyuck’s fear. It’s foreign: a voice, a pitch deeper than his own, whispering inside of Donghyuck’s mind: _Where am I? Where’s up? I can’t see._

Impulsively, Donghyuck presses his entire palm against the sun. His chest burns; the voice grows stronger. The darkness remains. When he opens his mouth, words tumble out of his lips, almost involuntarily. “Get the fuck up, Lee.”

His voice is raw, almost broken. And maybe it’s just Mark Lee’s terror mingling with his emotions, wearing him down, but his irritation is reborn into a different feeling—something like trepidation, like worry. This time, he can’t quite stop his voice from wavering, like waves falling on the banks of Hwasun beach: pushing and pulling, crashing forward and receding backward, always in motion. “Get the fuck up, Lee,” he murmurs again.

Then, his heart thudding like a broken pump, he drops his hand.

As soon as he stops touching the Bond Mark, the bathroom reappears in all of its grimy, tiny glory. This time, he scrutinizes his reflection. A crack in the mirror distorts his face, splitting it in half.

§§•§§

Donghyuck climbs back into his bed, smothers himself with his quilts, and tries to fall asleep to no avail. 

§§•§§

"You look tired," Jeno whispers.

Donghyuck shrugs. Jeno's euthanizing the truth. He looks like shit. His skin is sallow instead of gold and the bags under his eyes are even more prominent than usual. His looks can't bother him now, though. Not when it feels like there's a hand wrapped around his neck. Not when there's an awful, caustic pressure in the middle of his lungs as if he's been running miles without rest. (Which, for the record, he's done before without feeling as awful.) This is all Mark's fault, Donghyuck thinks irritably.

"Oh! Is it because of your late-night fighting stuff?"

Donghyuck stiffens. "Yeah," he mutters. "Sure."

Jeno notices his discomfort and frowns. He looks like he wants to talk about it, but Park Junghwa walks inside of the training room, one of the largest in Ludus. There aren't any windows, the walls are wooden, and thick, traditional sedge mats cover the floors. There aren’t any air vents, either. When Junghwa’s scent wafts into the room, thick and potent in the worst way, Donghyuck digs his nails into his palms. He can't look Junghwa in the eye. 

“Donghyuck- _ah_ ,” Jeno whispers, “look at me.”

Donghyuck’s mouth trembles. _I—I can’t._

“Hyuck—”

“Jeno, _stop._ ”

He doesn’t mean to snap. He doesn’t mean to be loud, either. But the acoustics in the room aren’t on his side, because his voice carries, like an echo in a cave, like a toll of a death bell. Donghyuck feels his chest constrict, but this time, it’s not because of his Bond or because of what he saw last night. It's because of the pair of eyes pressing into him, manipulative and mean and all-knowing.

“Lee Donghyuck,” Junghwa says, “is there anything you’d like to share with us, _son_?”

Donghyuck flinches. “No. Sir.”

Junghwa hums, not believing him. His scent remains where it is on the other side of the room. That, at least, is a relief. "Very well." His voice is calmer than usual. In Incheon, he only spoke like that before he delivered a particularly brutal blow to Donghyuck's abdomen or lungs or, sometimes, when he felt like it, his head. Donghyuck likens it to the sound before a tree falls in the woods. "Since there's no problem, I'm sure you don't mind separating from your friend, right, Donghyuck- _ah_?"

Someone sniggers. When Donghyuck flicks his eyes to the source of the sound, he finds that it's the same silver-haired Alpha he had fought during his first night in Ludus. The asshole still has remnants of a purple-and-yellow bruise on his face. _Well, fuck you, too_. 

Anger, at least, is a welcome reprieve from fear, so Donghyuck accepts it and stalks forward to where Junghwa is gesturing he ought to stand. Jeno shoots him a concerned look before he goes. Donghyuck mouths, _be careful_ , and Jeno nods, understanding. Heejin and Hyunjin are taking part in the afternoon sparring session, so they're the only Omegas in the room. If Donghyuck is switching partners, that means Jeno will end up with a Beta or, worse, an Alpha.

Donghyuck's new partner is lightweight for an Alpha. If Donghyuck didn't know any better, he would have mistaken him for an Omega. He's sprite-like, almost elfish, with mousy brown hair and cat eyes smudged in kohl. The rest of his features are equally delicate: a narrow nose and a thin, well-balanced mouth. There's something off about him; maybe it's the coldness in his smile, so different from the typical smugness of an Alpha, or maybe it's the cleverness in his eyes. If he _were_ an elf, he wouldn't be a Peter Pan type, naïve and carefree. 

"Lee Donghyuck," his partner says, tilting his head, acknowledging him. "Thanks for honoring me with your presence. "

Donghyuck grunts, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know you." 

"No." He almost sounds pleased. "But I know _you_."

"Awesome," Donghyuck drawls, deciding he has other things to worry about than this tool. Besides, if Donghyuck hasn't heard of him, then that means he hasn't placed in the top five and, frankly, isn't worth his time. "I'd be surprised if you hadn't, though. Not with my scores."

"Ah, yes." A full grin this time, sharp-toothed. "You were impressively awful in the lake. Last, right?"

Donghyuck stiffens. _What the fuck would you know?_ "If you think you can rile me up and win that way, you're wrong. I don't like losing."

"What a funny coincidence, Lee Donghyuck. Neither do I." 

Before Donghyuck can reply, Junghwa blows into his whistle and the fight officially starts. It's not a real fight and won't be factored into their official rankings. It's more of a practice session before the tournament a few days from now. Whatever the case, Donghyuck doesn't plan on losing. Not to some loudmouthed asshole. He grins back, making sure it looks equally menacing and says invitingly, "I'll let you make the first move. Show me what you've got." 

"How kind of you."

"I'm nothing but kind," Donghyuck replies, sarcasm seeping into his voice. And then, because he's also nothing but impatient, he mutters, "Hurry up."

He doesn't expect his partner to listen. If he were smart, which Donghyuck suspects is highly probable, he wouldn't listen. Donghyuck is egging him on, and that typically never works in favor of the opposing side. 

_Except,_ a two-faced, faithless part of his brain whispers, _when it's with Mark Lee._

Donghyuck clenches his teeth, something within him coiling and uncoiling, as he remembers Junghwa waiting for him on the rooftop three nights ago. Mark was supposed to have been there. Mark was always there until he wasn't, the night Donghyuck needed him the most. And then he had the _nerve_ to show up when Donghyuck wanted space, to card his fingers through Donghyuck's hair in that moonlit garden and murmur, "You can do anything." (For a heartbeat, Donghyuck had been so close to falling, so close to believing him.) 

_That's what I get for needing anybody at all,_ Donghyuck thinks to himself, unforgiving. _Much less... an Alpha._

He's so preoccupied with thoughts of Mark fucking Lee that he doesn't see the blur of black in front of him until it's too late and his new partner's wrapped a hand around Donghyuck's throat and wrapped his legs around Donghyuck's waist. His partner clings onto him like a giant sloth around a cecropia tree. Stunned, Donghyuck stumbles back, arms full of a heavy boy. He wheezes and the boy cackles. Strike everything Donghyuck thought before. He's not a sprite or an elf. He's one of those evil sorcerers that lure children into their homes with promises of cake before shoving them inside of polished copper ovens and baking them into meat pies. 

"What the _f_ _uck,_ " Donghyuck hisses. 

"You said I had the first move," he says. "So I took it."

"I can't _s_ _ee_ —"

"Oh, how tragic." 

_I'll show you tragic,_ Donghyuck thinks savagely. Does this guy think he can one-up _Donghyuck_ with a weird MMA move? Think the fuck again. Donghyuck didn't spend a huge portion of his youth memorizing the styles and forms of the world's best fighters—some of whom work in Ludus now—to be thrown off by this cheap trick. He pushes his hands upward, but instead of striking at the partner's face, he brings his fingers to the boy's armpits. And then, with the practice of an older brother, Donghyuck tickles him. 

His partner squirms in surprise. "Are you seriously— _oh my God_ —"

Donghyuck is relentless, however. You don't get through basic training as Omega without being as stubborn an irremovable stain on white cloth. You don't become the top scorer without grit, either. As soon as his tickling overpowers the boy's mobility—as soon as his grip on Donghyuck's neck loosens—Donghyuck purposefully crashes into the ground. There's a muffled thud as his partner's back hits the edge of the sedge mat. And then, quickly after, there's a small, heart-shuddering _snap_ when Donghyuck wraps his arms around the boy's neck and squeezes. 

"Did you break my neck?" he wheezes.

Donghyuck smirks but doesn't loosen his grip. "If I did, you wouldn't be able to talk right now." 

"But the sound—"

"I cracked a knuckle."

Donghyuck blinks, surprised when the boy laughs. It's weak since his circulation is being cut off, and more high-pitched than a typical Alpha's laugh, but it still leaves him feeling unsettled. "Are you actually dumb?" Donghyuck asks, wondering if he should squeeze harder. 

"You got me," his partner says readily, almost sounding pleased. "You win."

Well—of course, he did. He always does. He wouldn't be Lee Donghyuck if he didn't. But still. There's a principle to these things. Frowning, Donghyuck asks, "You're...giving up?"

"What, you want to choke me out instead?" 

No. "Maybe," Donghyuck mutters.

Another laugh, this one even more breathless than before. "Please let me go, O Great and Vicious Omega. I'll be forever grateful."

Donghyuck knows when he's being mocked. Snorting, he disengages and stands up, but not before sending his partner a well-aimed kick in the derriere. All the cleverness and coldness he had thought he'd seen were nothing more than mirages in a desert. He can't help but feel disappointed. His fights with Mark on the rooftop had been more... well, _t_ _hrilling_. This fight was too easy. The ones with Mark had been anything but. 

( _Stop thinking about him, Donghyuck._ _God_.) 

"Just so you know," his partner says, rubbing his behind, "I knew you would win." 

"Then why bother provoking me?" 

"I had to check for myself." He brushes imaginary dirt off of his shoulders. "See, there's a bet going around the Alphas these days on who will win in the tournament. You know. Like fantasy football." 

Donghyuck arches a brow. "And?"

"Most of the Alphas are choosing Jaemin—out of a misplaced sense of pride, I suppose—but I had a feeling you're better at hand-to-hand combat." He shrugs. "I thought it would be best to take this opportunity to test your resolve."

Donghyuck exhales slowly. "I don't care about whatever the hell you fools do," he says bluntly, scanning the room instead of making eye contact, "but for whatever it's worth, Alpha, I make it my business to win."

"Hmm. Well. My name is Renjun just so you know." 

"I don't care."

"Sure," Renjun says, sounding amused. Another whistle sounds, and he says, "Well, it looks like this round is over."

Donghyuck doesn't deign this with a response. His next opponent, judging by the Beta that plods toward him, is a girl with plaited hair and determined eyes. Her name is Lia or Mia or something. She's not bad; she's placed in the top ten a few times. Still, she doesn't look like a fighter.

"See you around, Lee Donghyuck."

"Whatever," Donghyuck mutters. 

§§•§§

By the time their sparring session is over, Donghyuck is panting heavily. Unlike the others, he's free of bruises, however. No one landed a single punch on him, although one of the Alpha girls, Yeji or something, forced him to play defense several times. He's still come out on top, though. As expected. Jeno says the same thing when he sees Donghyuck, smiling proudly and clasping Donghyuck's shoulder. "You did amazing, Donghyuck- _ah_." 

"You did good, too."

Jeno bows his head. "I lost twice."

"Against who?"

"Oh, um. Well, Jaemin and—"

"Na?" Donghyuck's hands curl into fists. "Did he bother you, Jeno- _yah_?" 

"No," Jeno says firmly and quickly, reaching out to tug Donghyuck's hands into his own. "It was a competition and... well, he won, fair and square."

Donghyuck's still frowning. 

"He's not that bad," Jeno whispers in his ear. "Really."

"All Alphas are," Donghyuck says back just as quietly. 

They're in the back of the line now. Park Junghwa is standing in front of the door, holding a clipboard. He's making comments to everyone before they leave; when it's Na Jaemin's turn, speak of the devil, Junghwa claps Jaemin's back and brushes his hair and exclaims so loudly that everyone can hear, "Attaboy, son! I knew you had it in you to do some real damage." 

Jeno looks at Jaemin quickly before shooting him a probing look _._ "What about your tutor?" Jeno asks shrewdly, making Donghyuck's blood run cold. "You seemed to get along with him." 

"Lee's not important."

"So why did you stay up so late seeing him?"

Donghyuck sends him what he hopes is a scornful look. Judging by the clever, knowing gleam in Jeno's eyes, he's not very successful. "He's a...decent fighter," Donghyuck says begrudgingly, sparingly. "It was practical to train with him."

"Right," Jeno says. " _Practical_." 

More Trainees exit the room and head to the Mess Hall for a late lunch. The line grows shorter and Donghyuck tries not to be miffed at Jeno's tone and spectacularly fails. "Practical, rational, useful," he snaps, irritated. "What have you. I was just getting stronger, Jeno."

"I know," Jeno says easily. Too innocent to be anything but purposeful, he adds, "Mark Lee's very handsome, you know."

"I don't know."

"Uh-huh."

"His eyebrows look like seagulls!" Donghyuck insists. "And his eyes are way too big to look normal. Plus, his cheekbones are fucking preposterous—"

Jeno's voice is mild. "I never said _you_ had to find him attractive," he says and with a sinking feeling, Donghyuck realizes he's been played. "I just said that _I_ think he's very good-lucking." The playful glint in his eyes is downright devious. Where has this version of Jeno, so different from his typical patient, lovely self, been hiding? "You wouldn't have a problem with that, would you, Donghyuck-ah? Since you only care about him for _practical_ reasons." 

"I don't care about him at all," Donghyuck denies, even as a vicious pain emerges in his chest, his Bond Mark protesting his choice of words. "He doesn't matter to me."

"But you're still training with him," Jeno says.

"Not anymore."

"What?" Jeno's brow furrows. "What are you talking about—"

But before Jeno can say anything else, the line surges forward and a different pain germinates inside of Donghyuck. But maybe he shouldn't call the feeling pain. It's more like dread mixed with resignation. His knees shake and his fingers twitch. By now, his body has been conditioned to feel afraid, like a fucked up Pavlovian reaction. After all, you can burn a tree only so many times before it stops growing, and you can bruise a child only so many times before he stops believing in anything but violence. Donghyuck is not that child, but he's close. So close, that sometimes, he has nightmares where he wakes up in pools of blood and he isn't sure whether he died or killed. 

But by the time he and Jeno are in front of Park Junghwa, Donghyuck bows his head like a tree bending in a hurricane. This, too, is another Pavlovian reaction. 

“Donghyuck-ah,” Junghwa says. His voice is a whip on Donghyuck’s back. He is the snake and the snare in Donghyuck's nightmares. “I was watching you.”

_Of course you were._

“You won every match, son.”

Donghyuck nods. He can’t look Junghwa in the eye.

“Are you scared of me, Donghyuck- _ah_?”

A distant part of Donghyuck registers that he should crack a joke. Jeno is standing right behind him, and Jeno can’t become suspicious. Jeno can’t ever find out the truth. If he does, Donghyuck will have to say goodbye to him, but he doesn’t think he can do that without his heart cracking into a dozen pieces. He can’t lose Jeno. And yet, despite knowing this, Donghyuck cannot open his mouth. 

“Sir,” Jeno says, gripping Donghyuck’s shoulder again, his hand a warm, strong anchor, “we'll be late for lunch.”

“Very well.” Junghwa’s voice becomes clipped, authoritative. “Head to the Mess Hall, Lee Jeno.”

“Right, sir.” And Jeno makes to move with Donghyuck in tow, but Donghyuck stays where he is. “Donghyuck-ah, let’s go—”

“Oh, no,” Junghwa says pleasantly. “ _You_ may go, Jeno. I have a few things I want to talk to Donghyuck about.”

Donghyuck’s shoulders slump. There it is.

“Sir, I don’t think I should leave him.”

“Are you disobeying a direct order, Lee Jeno?”

Donghyuck shoves Jeno. “Go,” he says, voice frigid.

“Donghyuck—”

Donghyuck finally looks into Jeno’s eyes. He forces his face to contort into something resembling his typical confidence. “ _Go_ ,” he says quietly, his voice brokering no argument. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Jeno remains where he is. “I don’t want to.”

Something in Donghyuck snaps. “Dammit, Jeno,” he hisses. “I said _go!_ ”

And maybe it’s something in Donghyuck’s eyes. Maybe it’s something in his posture. Maybe it’s something in his voice. Whatever it is, Jeno finally nods, even as his eyes cloud with sadness and his shoulders stiffen. He leaves and part of Donghyuck suddenly wants to beg Jeno to say. Part of him wants to latch onto Jeno's arms and drag him down, but he can't do that. This is his mess, his car crash, his life. Just his. Not Jeno's or Heejin's or Hyunjin's. 

_Thank you for listening, Jeno-yah._

§§•§§

They’re alone in the training room. This is not the first time and it won’t be the last. The first time they were alone—his mom far from sight—Junghwa had gifted Donghyuck a plastic car he had bought in Italy. It wasn’t a toy. It was an expensive model of an expensive car and when Donghyuck accidentally broke the axle between the front wheels, Junghwa slapped him so hard a red handprint remained on Donghyuck’s cheeks. Donghyuck had been too scared to even cry. When his mother found him, though, she screamed and then hurled the car against the wall until it splintered into a million fragments. Then she cried and murmured meaningless apologies. 

This time, Junghwa is as sweet as the burnt residues of molten sugar. He runs his fingers through Donghyuck’s curls and muses, "You look just like your mother." He huffs a laugh when Donghyuck violently flinches. "Hush, son. You know I mean well.”

_You know I love you. You know I’d die without you in my life, right?_

It’s always a different iteration of the same damned thing. Donghyuck’s smart enough not to stay that, though. Sometimes, if he’s quiet and pliant enough, he can make it through an encounter unscathed. At least, he mostly could in Incheon.

“How old were you when she left, Donghyuck-ah?”

“I... I think... eight.”

“I always knew she’d hurt you. I knew the moment she took you and the kids away from me.”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply.

Junghwa tugs harder. Donghyuck winces and he says, “I’m glad you're here, Donghyuck-ah. I thank God for it every day.” He pauses. "You know, there was a time I didn’t believe in God. I lost faith in everything when everything was _taken_ from me. But now… I realize I had been so foolish. So misguided.”

_Just keep quiet, Donghyuck-ah. Okay? Can you keep quiet for me?_

Instead of his grandmother's gruff alto, it's his mother's voice in his head now, begging him to remain still. Donghyuck remembers the night before she left. She had dipped her hands in mustard oil and combed out his curls until they became damp waves on his scalp. She dropped sprigs of lavender and rosemary into the bath and washed his hair until her fingers turned into raisins. "Be quiet for me, Hyuckie," she had said when soap suds entered his eye and he began crying. "Mom's tired right now." 

Donghyuck shakes his head. Why is he remembering this _now_? What's the point? 

"Your mother spent years hiding and lying, Donghyuck-ah. But we found each other again, didn't we? And now we're a team." 

Donghyuck’s chest tightens. Pain on top of pain on top of pain.

“ _Aren’t_ we, Donghyuck-ah?”

“Y—Yes.”

Satisfied, Junghwa releases him. His eyes are alight. Sometimes Donghyuck looks into him and sees the echo of lingering madness and sometimes he looks into them and sees the clarity of a man mourning the power he once had. He can’t tell which image is more terrifying: that of the man or the monster. (Behind every monster, there is a man, isn’t there?) “I need you to keep tabs on the Flier,” Junghwa says in the voice he used in Incheon before he would beat the shit out of Donghyuck. “Do you understand, Donghyuck-ah? If anything happens concerning him, if you know _anything_ , I need to know.”

_Why? Why him? Why do you care?_

Donghyuck thinks about his hallucination in the bathroom. He thinks about the darkness. He thinks about the fear that had felt distinctly like Mark’s. And he thinks about the Bond Mark engraved on his chest, the Bond Mark that ties him to Mark Lee without his will, that burns in pain whenever he says something that defies their Bond. If Junghwa finds out about it, it might very well be his death sentence. “Yes, sir,” Donghyuck whispers, lying through his teeth, lying through his fear. “I—I will.”

§§•§§

Funny. Donghyuck can't figure out which one is worse: when Junghwa punches him or when he talks sweetly to him. Both feel like poison. Numb and fatigued, he stumbles into the Mess Hall and heads to the food lines without paying attention to his surroundings. Someone plops a tray into his arms and one chef gives him a bowl of rice. He thinks someone else gives him broth, but he's not sure. 

"Really? That's all you're getting?"

Donghyuck picks up his head. The Alpha from earlier—Renjun—is standing beside him. His mouth is curled into a coy smile, and he winks at a chef. 

"What're you doing?" Donghyuck mutters, too tired to even be pissed that an Alpha is talking to him. 

"Treating you," Renjun says cheerfully. 

The chef returns with a bowl piled with steaming rice and sashimi. There's a beautiful, glistening red sauce on top of the sashimi and leafy green things that Donghyuck _thinks_ might be parsley but could also be an exotic vegetable only found on the islands of Japan or something. "What the hell?" Donghyuck says, pressing a hand on his stomach when it grumbles.

"C'mon," Renjun says, "let's sit together."

"I don't sit with Alphas."

"Oh?" Renjun says, tilting his head to the side. He's blatantly humoring Donghyuck, but all Donghyuck can muster is a vague tendril of resentment. "Then who do you sit with, O Lonely One?" 

"Jeno." Donghyuck's not sure why he's telling him this. "But it's none of your business—" 

"Jeno's sitting with an Alpha, though?"

"He's— _what_? Where?" 

"By the windows." 

Donghyuck whirls around so quickly that the special sauce sloshes on his wrists. It doesn't bother him, though, not when he spots Jeno's head right next to _Na Jaemin's_. Jaemin dyed his hair pink a week ago in blatant disrespect to Ludus's rules; Donghyuck doesn't care about the rules, but it irks him that no one dares say anything to Jaemin, the oh-so-special grandson of General Na. "What the hell?" Donghyuck hisses, gnashing his teeth. "Na's bothering him _again?_ "

Renjun moves forward until he's in the corner of Donghyuck's periphery again. He looks flabbergasted. "Does he look bothered to you?" he says, aghast. "Do you need glasses? Should I call you O Blind One instead?" 

Donghyuck doesn't have time for this. He grimaces, about to stomp over, but Renjun grabs his wrist and Donghyuck snarls. "Let me go before I give you a repeat demonstration of today's session." 

"I'm _quivering_ ," Renjun says drily but releases his wrist. "What's your deal? Are you into Jeno or something? Why do you keep trying to cockblock him?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on." Then, he says, "Wait, are you serious?" 

Donghyuck stares at him.

Renjun laughs incredulously. "Come off it," he says, waving his hand elegantly in the air. He has bird bone wrists and a ballerina's grace, although neither saved him in today's match. "Everyone knows those two are sucking face every day."

"There's no way—"

"Sucking face," Renjun repeats, sounding delighted at Donghyuck's shock. "I've never seen it, but Yeji has. They're not very subtle, you know. Well, Jeno might be, but Na isn't. Kind of like you to be honest." 

Donghyuck's stomach churns. No, Renjun's got to be lying. Jeno wouldn't—not with Jaemin. Not after their small altercation in the cafeteria. Not when Jaemin's so fucking self-satisfied and smug and _Alpha_ all the time. Jeno's the exact opposite of that. He's sweet while Jaemin's sour and he's humble while Jaemin's the second-coming of that Greek guy that stared at his reflection until he died. Surely, Donghyuck thinks, searching Jeno's face from across the room, surely, Jeno would have higher standards than the living embodiment of a grown-up wart. 

Renjun notices him scrutinizing the pair. "I know you're smart," he comments, "but if you haven't noticed that yet, you're really oblivious, Donghyuck. Jeno's even got lip-gloss on!" 

"His lips are naturally shiny," Donghyuck says defensively. "It looks the same."

"It's an MLBB color." 

"A what?" 

"My lips but better," Renjun says. "Anyway, can we sit down? My legs are already aching, thanks to you, and I'm tired of standing."

"Who says I'm sitting with you?" Donghyuck mutters, eyes still not leaving Jeno.

"You don't have a lot of options."

Donghyuck snorts. "Sure."

"You don't! The other Omega girls aren't here yet, which means they're slated for the second lunch today, and that means you're alone. Unless you want to third-wheel our little lovebirds here."

That's it. Donghyuck slams his tray in Renjun's hands. "Thanks but no thanks," he says and heads out of the cafeteria before Renjun even has time to blink. 

§§•§§

Donghyuck wanders. 

He leaves the main building. Lake Sejeong is to his right; there's a forest on his left and the ruins of a crumbling shrine up North. Outside, it smells like myrrh and wet dirt and his shoes make soft crunch-crunch noises as he steps on frozen frost. Winter is here: brittle and about to be brutal. The morning drills will become harder. The tournament will be downright agonizing. Still. Winter's not all that bad. 

_November afternoons are perfect for jasmine tea,_ Donghyuck thinks. Suddenly, his throat tightens and all thoughts of the tournament fly out of his head. 

Before his grandfather died, he made quilts. His grandmother never enjoyed looking at them—out of heartbreak, Donghyuck supposed—so she kept them hidden for most of the year. When the air became frigid, and the birds left for their yearly migrations to warmer climates, though, she finally got around to unpacking the quilts: thick and downy, hand-embroidered and painted in the colors of June. Donghyuck and his siblings used to huddle underneath the quilts as their grandmother brewed made many teas: jasmine and oolong and bitter, herbal ones so they didn't get sick. 

She must be doing that with the twins now. Yuna's probably not in the house, helping her. Yuna's probably fucking around with a boy, wet snow in her hair, cheeks red, wearing her favorite scarf from Seoul. 

Donghyuck's hands curl into fists. He continues walking. 

Fuck. He's getting soft. Winter's always hard for him, though. His mom left in winter. 

_Forget about her,_ he tells himself. _Just focus on Ludus. Focus on where you are._

And then he realizes he doesn't know where he is. 

He's entered an enclave of ugly, carbon-colored buildings. Now he's in a weird alley between two ugly-as-fuck highrises. He cranes his head, but he can't see anything except for low-rolling clouds and black windows. 

He turns around, but his eyes water when a sudden flare of light erupts from his Bond Mark. Donghyuck wipes his eyes, his breath shortening. As if there's a rope tied around his waist, tugging him forward, he changes his mind and staggers deeper into the alley. He knows who he'll find even before he sees him. 

He doesn't feel his feet moving but before he knows it, he's at the back of the alley. There are bits of gum stuck on the walls and soggy newspapers and smelly banana peels on the ground. The alley is narrow; the walls are tall and suffocating. He should turn around and leave. He should kick Mark in the balls. He should make him apologize. For what? For ruining his life. For putting this stupid Bond Mark on his chest. (For not being there. For being there at the wrong time. For letting Donghyuck stew in these stupid emotions day in and day out. For—for—) 

Resolved, Donghyuck opens his mouth, deciding to start off with a curse. But before he can say anything, the aching tension he carried for the last few days suddenly eases. A deep and comforting warmth replaces it. It almost feels as if someone's drugged him, pumped him full of opioids, because he feels very drowsy as the last pangs of pain leave his system. Strangely, he also feels off-blanace, like his center of gravity has shifted, and he tips forward. _I'm going to fall,_ Donghyuck thinks midway into falling. 

He doesn't. Strong, familiar, calloused fingers dip into the space between his waist and his hips and pull him up. Mark squeezes his waist and the warmth Donghyuck felt turns into a fire; Donghyuck inadvertently lets out a small grunt, but his head falls in the crook of Mark's neck and the sound is muffled. As soon as Mark's scent hits him, all the curses he spent days thinking of, and all the insults and cruel remarks, all of his pettiness, all of his words and thoughts, disappear. Mark's smell is mixed with a heady, salty, coppery tang, almost like blood, almost like metal, but dark and velvety and intoxicating all the same. It's rich and overwhelming and disorienting, and it leaves him feeling as if downed several shots of potent, fiery liquor. 

"What are you doing here?" Donghyuck mumbles, disoriented. 

_No, Donghyuck, be mad at him. Don't sound con cerned. You're not supposed to care. _

"You found me," Mark rumbles in his ear, his voice a ghost caress against Donghyuck's skin. 

"I—" 

"You found me." Mark's voice can't be higher than a murmur, but he sounds different—deep and hoarse, more gravelly than usual, with a hue of desperation coloring his voice—and Donghyuck doesn't understand why. "How did you do it, Hyuck?" Mark mumbles, and somehow pulls him even closer until they're chest-to-chest and the only thing separating them is two layers of stretchy fabric. 

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut. For the first time, he can't find enough air to respond, because it feels like Mark is sucking the oxygen in the alley. Until all Donghyuck can think about is Mark's heady scent and the tired timbre of his tone. 

"How, Hyuck?" 

"Dunno," Hyuck replies weakly, his lips moving over Mark's neck, tingling wherever they touch Mark's salty-sweet skin. There's a new inflection in Mark's voice, a steely sort of rashness, that makes him say, "Just—just...was walking. Saw you. I—I don't know—"

Mark winds one arm around Donghyuck's waist, as if he's scared Donghyuck will run away. Maybe he will. Maybe he should. He doesn't, though. He stays pinned in Mark's arms and squirms when Mark cups his chin and gently, with a startling, terrifying amount of care, lifts his head. Donghyuck's eyes roam over Mark's face and if he weren't already struggling to breathe, his breath might have hitched. There's a new scar on Mark's face running from his left cheek to his bottom lip, pinkish-white against his pale skin. A cobweb of fading bruise cover Mark's nose and mouth, but it definitely _isn't_ from one of their fights. 

"Mark," Donghyuck says slowly, "what happened?"

Mark's eyes are so very dark, his pupils blown out. There's a fervent look in them, there's so much intensity it leaves Donghyuck feeling shaky.

"So much," Mark says. "So many terrible things, Hyuck." 

Donghyuck's heart twists like someone yanked a dagger into his left atrium and yanked it out with a flourish. _It's the Bond making me feel like this,_ Donghyuck tells himself. _It's biology._ And yet, he trails his fingers down Mark's face. Another sweetly violent chill races down his spine. "It's okay," he says shakily. He doesn't know who he's speaking to, Mark or himself. His fingers dip lower until he's gripping the back of Mark's neck. "You're alive," Donghyuck tells him. "They haven't killed you yet."

He's not sure who they are. 

Mark shudders and Donghyuck feels that, too. "They might."

Donghyuck swallows. "I won't let them."

He doesn't know why he says that. Pheromones, maybe. Or a simple slip of a tongue. Or... Or... 

He never gets to decide on an excuse, because, in a stunning display of strength, Mark flips them around and pins him against the brick wall. Donghyuck doesn't even get time to appreciate that it's the same move Mark used in one of their fights before Mark's lips are brushing his.

It's not the first time Donghyuck's being kissed. Hell, it's not the first time _they've_ kissed. Donghyuck had done the honors, after all. But _this_ is utterly, irrevocably _different_. On the rooftop, Mark had been too stunned to do anything but sit there as Donghyuck pressed their lips together. Now, Mark's—he's—he's angling his face and pushing at just the _right angle,_ his lips hot and cracked and insistent against Donghyuck's own, until Donghyuck's whole body is trembling and his heart is flip-flopping. He lets out a small noise, it might be a whimper, it might be a gasp or a grunt, or something slightly inhuman sounding, and for a second, Donghyuck feels Mark's body tense. 

_He's going to move away,_ Donghyuck thinks in a brief, unexpected moment of clarity. 

He tries to open his eyes, but before they can even flutter, Mark carefully, tenderly bites Donghyuck's lower lip. _Oh,_ Donghyuck thinks, heart jumping in his throat, his fingers twitching, his toes curling, _oh, oh, never mind._ Mark nibbles on Donghyuck's lip for a bit, teasing it between his teeth, before he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. He does that sweeping thing one more time and then he pulls back just a smidgeon, disconnecting their lips. A line of saliva connects their mouths and it should be messy and gross and Donghyuck _should_ hate it, but blood rushes to his cheeks. 

" _Mark,_ " he says. He wants to sound like he's seconds from cussing Mark out, but to his dismay, he sounds like he's _whining_. Dammit. 

Mark's gaze softens. "Keep your eyes closed," Mark says, voice dark and velvety, so utterly unlike him. He sounds a little incapacitated himself. 

_Kick him in the balls, Donghyuck, do it now. Push him away. Don't do anything stupid._ "Who says I wasn't going to?" Donghyuck says like a challenge. 

The corners of Mark's lips lift. He brushes his thumb across Donghyuck's lips. Then, he slips one hand over Donghyuck's eyes, blinding him. Donghyuck hisses, stunned, but Mark presses his lips on Donghyuck's again and all of Donghyuck's mental cognitive abilities promptly leave him. Mark kisses him like he has something to prove. Maybe that's why Donghyuck kisses him back, tilting his head to allow Mark easier access. He keeps his eyes closed, even when Mark's hand falls, melted heat pooling in his stomach and traversing across his entire body. A moan slips out of his lips when Mark slips his tongue into his mouth. Mark tastes like metal and a little like blood and it's not a good combination, per se, but it's a Mark combination and Donghyuck's body is having a very, very difficult time denying Mark any praise.

As if Mark knows this, he pushes Donghyuck's body further against the wall, a little rough, but Donghyuck doesn't mind the sting of the brick on his skin; on a purely primal level, like an instinct he never knew he had, he enjoys that Mark isn't treating him like he's _fragile_. 

Because Mark's not a violent Alpha. He's awkward and straight-edged, well-mannered, and as sweet as a sunflower. Even now, even as an adult, he hasn't lost that. He's so painstakingly _polite_ that it typically makes Donghyuck want to punch something, but right now, it leaves him feeling warm and pleased. Because if Mark's not treating him like he's about to break, that means, on some level, he knows how strong Donghyuck is. He trusts Donghyuck to keep up. 

Maybe it's that more than anything that makes Donghyuck lose control. He doesn't realize what he's doing until it's too late. He bares his neck to Mark almost on a whim, almost as if he's in a dream, and wrestles Mark's hand away from his jaw and down his neck to his pulse-point, right next to his scent glands. "Mark," he says, breaking from the kiss, panting, more than a little delirious. "Do you—could you— _please_ —"

He's not sure what he's asking for. He's not sure why he's begging, either. All he knows is that for a second, Mark traces his fingers across Donghyuck's scent-glands, making the two of them shiver. For a second, Donghyuck thinks Mark will do it, whatever it is. But then, as if waking up from a dream, Mark stiffens. Raises his head. He looks at Donghyuck and his eyes are still hooded, but his scent is less sharp now—as if he is purposely reining it in—and he seems more _awake_. He lets go of Donghyuck's waist. Lets go of Donghyuck's jaw. Donghyuck shivers and tries to chase the warmth, but Mark takes a careful step back. 

"No," he says and his voice isn't cold, exactly, but it still makes Donghyuck feel like he's been thrown headfirst into a freezing pond of water. "Hyuck, we—we can't."

Donghyuck gapes at him. 

Mark's expression softens, and he grabs Donghyuck's hand. "We have to talk, Donghyuck. Away from here." 

§§•§§

They sit by the edge of Lake Sejeong. Donghyuck thinks vaguely that he should hate being here—bad memories and whatnot—but it's not so bad. Mark's scent is washing over him, doing that 'calm down' thing again. Mark himself is sitting beside Donghyuck, legs crossed. He's not wearing his Flier apparel, which is a first. He's wearing a white tee-shirt and loose black joggers. He'd been wearing a leather jacket, too, but he'd taken that off and spread it on the sand and refused to sit down until Donghyuck sat down on top of it. "No point in getting your uniform messy," he'd said. 

Donghyuck humors him. Now that they're not, well, otherwise occupied, it's becoming clearer that there's something off about Mark. His hands are bandaged, for one. There's that scar on his face. More than that, though, it's his body language. Mark Lee is a lot of things but not once, not even when he lost to Donghyuck, did he ever appear defeated. Now, though, his head is bent, his black hair falling across his face. He's playing with the sand, not making eye-contact with Donghyuck. 

Finally, to break the tension, Donghyuck says, "I kind of had a vision." 

Mark stills. 

"Everything faded until it was completely dark. I heard your voice in my head." He hesitates. "You didn't know where you were."

Mark looks up. He looks tired. More than that, he looks _crushed_. It makes Donghyuck uneasy and pissed off at the same time. "I was in the Rift," Mark breathes. "I didn't know which way was up." 

Donghyuck eyes him. "What happened?"

Mark's mouth twists. "Hyung died," he says plaintively as if it's a fact of life. His lips tremble, though, and he digs his hands into the sand. "I couldn't save him."

Oh. Donghyuck doesn't look away. Grief is grief, whether you're an Omega or an Alpha, a Trainee or a Flier. "For what it's worth," Donghyuck says, tracing the contours of Mark's jaw with his eyes, "it probably wasn't your fault."

"You don't know that."

"No," Donghyuck accedes. "But it probably wasn't."

Mark's brow furrows. "How can you say that?"

"Because I used to think it was my fault that my mom left." He tries not to think too hard about what he's saying. Best just to let the words tumble out naturally. "But it wasn't, not really. Sometimes, we can't do anything. Sometimes it's just..." He waves a hand. "I don't know. God or something."

"You believe in God?" 

Donghyuck shrugs. "You do, though, right?" 

Nodding, Mark asks, "How'd you know that?"

 _You're easy, too easy,_ Donghyuck thinks. Instead, he says carefully, trying not to hurt Mark's feelings, "I dunno. The bond helps me pick up stuff, I guess."

"Oh," Mark says. "The bond. Right." 

"It's sort of useful," Donghyuck says, smiling despite himself. "It helped you out in the Rift, yeah?"

"More than you know."

The admission is gratifying. Donghyuck tries to pretend that his cheeks aren't heating even more. He clears his throat and then, the thought suddenly hitting him, he says, "Is that what you meant when you said I found you? That I...found you in the Rift?" 

The lake is a half-frozen sheet of ice in front of them and the wind has disappeared. Their voices are the only sounds on the shore. Some tension dissipates from Mark's shoulders and he runs a hand through his hair. "I guess," Mark says, not looking at Donghyuck. "I wasn't...exactly thinking clearly."

Intelligently, Donghyuck says, "Oh. Uh-huh." 

"Hey," Mark says, finally sparing him a glance. He's been chewing on his lips because they're redder than normal—or maybe Donghyuck did that. "We should... We should talk about. You know."

"We don't have to," Donghyuck blurts out, embarrassed and stubbornly pleased. "Like, really, Mark, it's not a big deal." 

_It was...I sort of liked it. Not a big deal, though. Definitely not._

Mark studies him. Something swims in his eyes, although Donghyuck can't pick out the exact sentiment. "Donghyuck," Mark says and Donghyuck realizes that Mark sounds _d_ _isappointed._ "I'm sorry."

Donghyuck's stomach sinks. He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again. "You're—what?"

Mark closes his eyes, looking pained. Donghyuck suddenly wants to punch him. "I shouldn't have kissed you," he mutters. "I'm so sorry. I know I probably made you uncomfortable." 

"Uncomfortable," Donghyuck repeats. His voice sounds wrong in his head. Too jagged. "You think you made me _uncomfortable_." 

Mark still doesn't open his eyes. He looks like he's steeling himself and Donghyuck suddenly understands that it will hurt. Whatever Mark says, it will hurt more than any punch or kick or chokehold. "If I wasn't—If I knew what I was doing, you... you know I wouldn't have done that, right?" His voice tilts up hopefully at the end. And yup, Donghyuck was right. "You know that, don't you, Donghyuck-ah?" 

"Sure," Donghyuck says before he's lunging to his feet. "I've got to go—I've got training." 

"But," Mark begins, finally opening his eyes.

"Training," Donghyuck says. He kicks Mark's jacket toward him violently. "Thanks for the jacket, asshole."

Mark's lips contort into a frown. The same lips he had used to kiss Donghyuck. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," Donghyuck says angrily. His hands are shaking so he stuffs them in his pockets. "You're a fuckin' saint, Mark Lee."

Mark's brow furrows. He looks lost. Donghyuck isn't sure whether to laugh or to cry, because Mark Lee—precious, beautiful, kindhearted, heroic Mark Lee—would never, ever mean to hurt his feelings. "What's wrong?" Mark asks, alarmed. "Donghyuck, did I—was it really so bad?"

"It was _awful_ ," Donghyuck says, shaking his head and forcing himself to laugh. "But don't apologize. It's not like you were my first, anyway." 

And then, before Mark can rub salt on the wound, Donghyuck runs away from Lake Sejeong and he doesn't stop running until he's back in Bunk C4. 

§§•§§

He slams the door behind him. Jeno's sitting on his bed, reading a book, while Heejin's determinedly doing pushups from one railing. Hyunjin's sprawled on the floor, painting something, her watercolors a brilliant, vibrant, runny mess. They all look at him: Jeno with concern and Heejin with confusion and Hyunjin with that deadpan stare that could mean she knows exactly what's going on _or_ she's as hopelessly lost as the rest of them. 

"Are you okay, Hyuck?" Hyunjin asks him, cocking her head. Out of the three of them, she's the least afraid of his temper. 

"No," Donghyuck says. 

"What happened?" Jeno asks, setting down his book.

Donghyuck's mouth trembles. He looks at Heejin, remembering the way Heejin had cried in his arms. _If only I could tell you._

Somehow, he doesn't have to tell Heejin anything, because she _knows_ the second he looks at her. (Sometimes, she is _so_ much like his grandmother it makes him long for home.) "Oh, Hyuck," she says and then she's landing on the floor, neatly like a cat, and beckoning him over with her hands. 

Donghyuck falls into her embrace readily, not caring that she's sweaty and gross. He thinks about telling her about Mark but she doesn't know enough to understand. He thinks about making an excuse but his mind is spinning and he can't think about anything except for the awful, aching pressure building up in his throat.

"It's okay, baby," she says, rubbing his shoulders, and it's only then that he realizes he's crying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renjun: +1000 points  
> Jeno: +50 for sitting with his soulmate?  
> Markhyuck: -30331  
> Mark: -infinity 
> 
> (Oh, mark, you poor, clueless, dumb bb) 
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos are my motivation to keep writing, so if you liked this chapter, please, please lmk. 
> 
> As always x2 my twitter and CC are: crashbang12. 
> 
> Until next time, y'all!


	9. i.ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I did not foresee how long this chapter would be, and it was a pain in the ass to write, but we're almost there, y'all! Almost at the end of part one.
> 
> The next chapter will be the second-to-last one in the arc. It will probably be as long as this one and hopefully even more of a woozy. 
> 
> (I don't know when I'll have time to write it, though, so please don't expect it soon.)

The patchwork pattern of bruises on Baekhyun’s face has metamorphosed into dull brown-gray splotches. As he strides toward Mark, his wet lashes and red-rimmed sclera are all too easy to spot. He's not hiding his pain, not like Mark, who sequestered himself in a training room and fought dummies for the last eight hours. Now there's a halo of beaten-down automatons around Mark, his knuckles are scraped, and his cuticles are bleeding. Still, regardless of what his injuries may broadcast, fighting a robot isn't the same as fighting a human (Donghyuck). There's no thrill. Only brainwashed repetition. Only the continuous tick of the clock and the heavy thud of Mark's fists. 

Baekhyun takes off his shoes by the door. Calmly, he says, “You’re not supposed to be here, kid.”

Mark shrugs but doesn't argue. After the engineers found structural issues in the columns holding up the ceiling, General Kwon elected to shut down this training room. That doesn't stop it from being Mark's favorite, though. Here, three windows overlook the ruins of the shrine and give a glimpse of the gardens. More importantly, it doesn’t smell like metal or salt or sweaty clothes, but of an old manuscript and of spilled ink; it smells like his brother, perhaps because it was he who had discovered this place and dragged Mark along, to begin with. 

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles.

Baekhyun’s scent shifts, surprising Mark. He always uses suppressants and Mark isn't sure why he's off of them now. Then again, this is Baekhyun. He claims to be an open book, but he's difficult to read, because his inner compass isn't rigid and his rules are flexible. Sometimes he follows them and sometimes he bends them. Sometimes he pretends they don’t exist at all. 

Whatever the case, the smell of apples just before they’re ripe—when they’re not soft and sweet, so much as crunchy and promising—washes over Mark. Hyung smells like hints of lavender, too, a surprising smell for an Alpha, but Mark doesn't care. He soaks in the scent, and a dark weight inside of him lifts a little. 

“Better?” Baekhyun asks because he knows.

Mark nods. 

Nodding back, Baekhyun opts to lie down next to Mark as if he's on a picnic instead of in a military base. 

Mark sits beside him. 

“A raider found bits of Joohyun’s uniform," Baekyun says finally. His voice reverberates around the room. “Sold it to the Underground in Hong Kong.” 

Captain Kim is dead, but he's buried in sacred ground, next to a cherry blossom tree. In the spring, petals will fall on his patch of hollowed earth, one for each prayer uttered in his name. Joohyun won't ever have that. Her final resting place is the same sea that killed her, and now, what's left of her is being bartered for by strangers. 

Mark can’t decide whether he wants to throw up or punch another dummy until it breaks. 

Baekhyun sighs heavily. "There’s a risk they'll find her ID number."

There’s always that risk. 

“Kwon wants to tell the press. Says she might as well as bite the bullet.” 

Opening his eyes, Mark stares at the fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling until the light turns hazy and surreal. "Oh," he says and is almost proud when his voice doesn't stumble. 

But there's no fooling Baekhyun. 

He grips Mark's ankle and tugs him until Mark is forced to look at him. "Mark," he says, eyes shining fiercely, "it's not going to be like before. Do you understand?" 

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," Mark lies. 

Because what can Baekhyun do, really? The press will, well, _press_ for more information. They'll ask about Joohyun. Was she still breathing when he found her? Did he check? Why hadn't he checked? And it won't just be them. The entire country, maybe the world, will demand answers because Captain Kim was a national hero and Joohyun was an international figure. Mark is the fool who couldn't save them. 

"Kid, stop thinking."

"Hyung..."

He isn't sure what's written on his face, but Baekhyun's expression softens. Tenderly, he cards his fingers through Mark's sweaty hair. "This won't be your crucifixion, Mark. I won't let it." 

Like a punch to the gut, Mark is reminded of Donghyuck. 

_"I won't let them," Donghyuck whispers. His voice is delicate, as delicate as crumbs of glass sugar. Because, even now, even at his gentlest, there's something sharp and callow about him, something dagger-like. But Mark doesn't mind that Hyuck could cut him. He can't when everything about Donghyuck ignites a flame in a furnace fueled only by want._

"Mark," Baekhyun says, snapping Mark out of his musings, "what're you thinking?"

Mark opens his mouth and tries to find the right words. They don't exist. The words, that is. His emotions are a different matter. They're as confusing and complicated as the overgrown roots of a century-old tree: too deep and, somehow, too ancient to understand. 

" _It was awful," Donghyuck spits out. He's shaking with rage._

_Mark wants to reach out, cup his jaw, and run his hands down his back until he calms down. He can't, though. He can only watch, stunned, as Donghyuck twists on his heel and turns his back on Mark._

_"But don't apologize. It's not like you were my first, anyway."_

"Whatever's on your mind right now isn't about Minseok, is it?" 

Mark licks his lips. Weakly, he asks, "How did you know?" 

§§•§§ 

The sky looks like one of Mom's watercolor paintings: a pearly blue backdrop streaked with violet and mauve. The colors seep together until there is no boundary between night and day. If Mark closes his eyes, he can pretend he's back in Vancouver instead of on a tiny hidden island off the coast of Korea. 

He doesn't do that. What's the point anymore? 

Mark inhales deeply. Instead of art supplies, he smells smoke and wet concrete as the rest of Ludus wakes up. Lights flicker on in the Barracks. From the frost-covered fields, a shrill whistle sounds and lines of ant-sized Trainees march in perfect order. A thin winter wind kisses the back of Mark's neck, and he aches with something he cannot even name. 

_I wish you were here, Mom._

§§•§§

Silence falls like a guillotine blade when Mark steps inside of the Mess Hall. Baekhyun's scent sharpens a little as if he can sense Mark's roiling anxiety and he steps forward, conveniently obstructing Mark's view of the other members of the Base. Mark keeps his head bowed until he's at his usual spot at the Fliers' Table. The table isn't covered in plates and cutlery; instead, there's a wreath of crystal-white chrysanthemums and two envelopes, one for Captain Kim and the other for Pilot Bae. 

"It's been a while," Taeyeon remarks quietly. Like the others, she's dressed in her ceremonial uniform, but her hair is braided with a black velvet ribbon. 

Baekhyun smiles tightly. "Should I host another karaoke night?" 

No one laughs. 

Taeyeon doesn't rebuke him. She and Baekhyun have a fascinating relationship, one marred with harsh jokes and insults but also plenty of understanding. It used to confuse Mark but as Baekhyun eloquently pointed out, "Some roses grow best on rocky soil, kid." Maybe it's because they dated once (although Mark knows little about _that_ ). Maybe it's because they're different sides of the same penny.

"I've heard you're scrapping your Navi," Taeyeon says instead, blunt. 

Mark's mouth falls open. "Hyung, what?" 

Baekhyun scowls. "The engineers told you? Or was it Kwon?"

Taeyeon's mouth flattens. "Do you really think I'll say?" 

Shaking his head, Baekhyun mutters, "Unbelievable. All these years and you're still the nosiest woman in Asia, aren't you, Tae?"

"Says the base's 'resident gossip'." Their bickering feels different this time. Less sharp and more tired. "Baek. It's a bad idea. It takes months to commission a new Navi, maybe years. The Council will sit you out until then."

"Brilliant," Baekhyun replies. "Have you considered that I might _want_ that?" 

"But your _team_ —"

"—will be f _ine_." Baekhyun flashes a smile at Mark. "Won't we, kid?" 

Mark swallows, hard. ”Yeah."

Like a dying lamp, Baekhyun's grin flickers. Then he shakes his head once again and stretches his shoulders. "Enough," he says more to himself than anyone else. He jerks his head into Jungeun's direction; she's the second youngest Flier in Ludus. "What happened to your face?"

Jungeun looks both disinterested in the conversation and offended that he noticed her black-eye. "I'm training someone," she says coolly. "She packs a mean punch."

"She wouldn't be an Omega, would she?" Baekhyun asks.

Jungeun arches a brow. "How did you know?"

"Deductive reasoning," Baekhyun replies. "I've heard another Omega is a good fighter."

Mark grabs Baekhyun's wrist. "Hyung," he warns. 

Jungeun doesn't hear him or doesn't care. She replies, "It's a good crop this year. I think they'll all pass." 

Taeyeon snorts. "I doubt it. The Council will have a conniption if that happens." 

Mark lets go of his hyung's wrist. "What do you mean?" he asks, frowning uneasily. "They wouldn't just _stop_ someone. Not if they pass...right?" 

Looking both sympathetic and frustrated, Taeyeon clucks her tongue like a mother hen. "Oh, honey," she sighs. "You're so _sweet,_ but you're wrong."

"But the rules—"

"The Council makes the rules," Taeyeon reminds him. "And the Council are a bunch of eighty-year-old Alphas. You know that. Hell, isn't your uncle on the Council?" 

"My grandfather," Mark mumbles, embarrassed.

"And he's not exactly activist material, is he?" Taeyeon says knowingly. “Your heart's in the right place, Mark, but you have to understand that they won't ever accept over one or two Omegas. It took a law—and a president willing to enforce it—for them to even allow Omegas as Trainees." 

Mark's stomach sinks like a rock plummeting in a ravine, like a body dropping at terminal velocity into the Rift. 

Donghyuck never accepts defeat. He treats victory like jetsam in a storm—like it's his only salvation—and Mark has never understood his desperation. After all, Donghyuck feels like he was born from the words of an ancient ballad; maybe it's the gold in his hair, in his skin, in his grin. He should be the most secure man on the planet, but paradoxically, he also reminds Mark of a wounded bird; his ever-scorching rage is the wrath of a fallen creature. 

Now, like the parting of gray, billowing clouds, Mark’s ignorance dissipates just a little. 

Mark may be naive but Donghyuck is anything but. He is cynical beyond his years, his youth tainted by misanthropy. He might not have known about the Council—few do, really—but Mark is sure that he entered Ludus knowing he would face discrimination. That's why he fights so hard; that's why he bruises so readily. That's why he allowed Mark to train him even if he hadn't even trusted Mark back then. 

Mark is such a fool. 

"Sorry kid," Taeyeon says. "I really thought you knew." 

"He's from Canada," Baekhyun says in his defense. "It's...different there." 

"Please." Taeyeon rolls her eyes. "If you're about to spiel some bullshit about the West being more 'accepting' I will literally—"

Mark never hears her threat because a familiar scent envelops the cafeteria.

General Kwon smells like the barrel of a silver pistol; like pure metal. It’s not comforting, not to anyone, but she hadn’t become a General by being _nice_ , especially not as a Beta. During a rare television appearance, she had confirmed that train of thought herself. “In war, kindness is a luxury, not a necessity,” she had said with her usual well-educated straightforwardness. “I hardly think it matters how I appear as long as I win.”

Her current appearance is somber. More than usual. Her skin is gray and her body language is tense. She strides to the makeshift podium at the front of the Mess Hall, footsteps clipped and hurried. If the silence from earlier was restrictive, it’s now downright oppressive. Mark can’t be the only one holding his breath. (Is Donghyuck? Is he worried, too? Or is he still angry? If only Mark dares to turn around and _look_ —)

“It is not in our country’s tradition to hold eulogies,” General Kwon says. “It is not in our military’s tradition, either. But today, I think it prudent to break tradition.” For a second, her composure falters and she clears her throat. “There are two portraits behind me. Look closely at them.”

She stops and waits for everyone to do as she says.

Mark can’t. 

He knows who he’ll find and knows what he won’t find. Captain Kim’s photograph is not the same as the person Mark knew. It’s not enough and it never will be. 

As for Joohyun… Well, Mark feels guilty even _thinking_ about her.

“Captain Kim Minseok, two-star. Pilot Bae Joohyun, three-star. They were two of our finest.”

Were.

“And now they are not,” General Kwon says, mincing no words. “They are gone. It is not in our best interest to deny this truth. It is also not in our best interest to ruminate over what could have happened or what should have happened. In the words of Captain Kim, ‘The living take priority.’ This is what he said to me when Flier Lee died. It is what I say to you now. We cannot allow ourselves more time to mourn for them when our job is to save as many as we can _right now._ ”

Hushed murmurs fill the room. Mark tries to control his breathing and fails. This time, when Baekhyun grabs his hand underneath the table, Mark doesn’t let go.

“For those who find my words cruel, let me remind you that war is cruel. Our fallen were soldiers; they knew the risks of their jobs and they carried out their duties to the end. We honor them not by forgetting but by finishing what they could not.”

“Mark,” Baekhyun whispers, “leave.”

“I—I c-can’t—”

“It’s okay.” Baekhyun squeezes his hand. “I’ll cover for you.”

Mark shouldn’t run away. He should stay and listen to the rest of the General’s speech. When the time comes, he should line up with the rest of the Fliers and bow to the portraits of his hyung and the woman he has always respected but never truly gotten the chance to know. Those are the right things to do, and Mark always tries to do the right thing, but something in him is not whole and no amount of hand-holding can fix that. Shame courses through him, foul and rank, but he takes the chance Baekhyun is giving him and stands up. 

As he passes by the Trainees’ table—he glimpses their uniforms in the corner of his eye—he almost looks for Donghyuck. But his Bond twinges and he loses all of his courage.

He can’t do it.

He doesn’t stop until he's out of the Mess Hall and out of Ludus entirely. His body moves of its own accord, his mind too drowned by worry, heightened grief and thick, curdling chagrin to make decisions. It's not until he smells pine and beech and briny saltwater that he realizes he's back at Lake Sejeong, arguably the start of all his problems with a stubborn, hot-headed Omega. 

Mark sinks on the sand; no, he stumbles. Sharp seashells and the jagged edges of sandstones dig into his thighs and arms but he can’t care. The last time he was here, a fortnight ago, Donghyuck kicked his jacket and practically spit in his face. A fortnight ago, he told Mark that kissing him was awful.

It's not the worst thing that's happened to Mark, really. It doesn't even crack the Top Three Most Awful Experiences of His Life. That might why it's easier to focus on that instead of what happened at the South China Sea. 

_I wish I could do everything over again._

He would warn Captain Kim not to go. He would call for backup as soon as possible. He would grab Joohyun's body quicker. Search and rescue; that's all it was supposed to be. But it doesn't matter how much he wishes for things to be different. General Kwon is right.

He can't go back. 

§§•§§ 

Like always, Baekhyun finds him. 

Mark doesn't realize he's there until he slings an arm around his shoulders and buries his nose in Mark's hair. "You must be starving," he says. "Let's sneak to town. There's a new seafood place that opened." 

"Did anyone notice I was gone?"

Baekhyun doesn't lie to him. He nods. 

Mark exhales shakily. 

"No one blames you."

"Sure," Mark says. He doesn't say that he blames himself. 

"Seulgi fainted," Baekhyun says quietly. "Sooyoung and Yerim had to carry her to the Infirmary. And I...I cried, too, kid. Sobbed, really." 

"Hyung," Mark says, throat searing. 

"What I'm trying to say is, out of all us, you had the most dignity. So don't worry about what anyone thinks, alright?" 

"Why are you so nice?" Mark asks suddenly. It's a question he's been asking himself a lot more recently. _Why don't you blame me, hyung? It should have been me who...who..._

The cold clings to the air but Baekhyun's body is warm, blazing. "When I lost my family, I became mean as hell. I had a boyfriend at the time, a tall, gangly kid with these big-ass ears, and I told him I hated him and I wanted him to fuck off to nowhere." Baekhyun laughs, hollow. "Turns out he took me too literally. Anyway. I found out he left, too, and I ran to Seoul and burned all of my money on alcohol. I blacked out and woke up on the side of the street, covered in my own vomit." 

"Jesus," Mark says, horrified. " _Hyung_." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Mark doesn't know what to say, but he's starting to figure out that some secrets require more than physical affection. “If I had known you back then, I would have helped you. I wouldn't have left you out there."

Baekhyun huffs out a laugh. "'Course, Mark." 

"I mean it."

"I know," Baekhyun says warmly. "And I appreciate it, I do, but that's not the point of this story."

_Then what is, hyung?_

Like he knows what Mark is thinking, Baekhyun continues. "So, because I’m a glutton for punishment, I go to another bar and run into Minnie by accident. It was around the time he had his first week off from Ludus. I don't know why but he bought me a drink and we ended up talking." Baekhyun exhales. "For a hot second, I thought he was going to ask me out, and I was getting ready to say no, but then he surprised me. Told me I should think about fighting in the war. Told me it would give me a purpose." 

"He found you, too?" 

"Yeah," Baekhyun says, half-laughing. “He never had a problem going up to anyone telling ‘em what was best for ‘em. Anyone else I would have fought for being so damn pushy, but Minnie? Guy had real charm, kid. He could've told me to join clown college and I probably would have." 

Mark wants to make a joke about Baekhyun making an excellent clown, but he doesn't have it in him. He just keeps listening. 

"He was also really kind. The kindest man I knew at the time." The laughter in Baekhyun's voice fades into bittersweet sorrow. "It wasn't like he didn't have his own pain. But it wasn't enough to stop him from wanting to help as many people as he could as many times as he could. And..." Baekhyun's voice trails away. "I realized that was a better way to live." A touch wryly, he adds, "Less likely to end up with me covered in throw up, too." 

"I miss him," Mark says.

"You always will. _I_ always will."

Suddenly, Mark wants to look at the sky so he does, craning his head back, Baekhyun naturally falling suit. It's too industrial here for there to be many stars, but the ones he can spot are luminous and lucid; Mom would have used her darkest, richest oils to paint the night and her most fragile instruments to dot the paper with specks of polished silver. 

"Hyuck told me it wasn't my fault," Mark says, surprised at how intense he sounds, how broody. 

Baekhyun hums. "It was here, wasn't it?"

"A little closer to the lake.”

"Did you believe him?" 

The answer falls from his lips easily. "He made me believe him." 

"Good," Baekhyun says quietly. "Because he was right. It was never your fault. You did all you could, Mark, and that's not an easy thing to live with, but it's the truth, plain and simple." 

Almost involuntarily, Mark rests his hand on his chest. _He's so brutal, hyung. Brutal with his words and brutal with his weapons and he always, always takes the difficult path even if he doesn't have to._ "He's the best Trainee among all of them," Mark says instead. "Watching him is like watching a dream." 

"A dream, huh?" Baekhyun says, amused. 

Mark flushes. _God, why'd I say that?_ "Y—Yeah." 

"Tournament's tomorrow," Baekhyun says. "And we're still out of commission until I meet with the Council. You should go."

"He...He won't want me there." 

"But he's like a _dream_ ," Baekhyun says and snickers when Mark tries to shove him away. "Alright, alright, kid. I know I'm being old and annoying, but if he's as good as you say, you'll regret not seeing him in action." Then, pitching his voice lower, Baekhyun murmurs in Mark's ear, "I mean, he'll probably be sweaty as hell, you know, and his _dreamy_ hair will be _dreamily_ tousled and he'll probably be _panting_ , perhaps the way he has been in your _dreams_ —"

This time Mark does shove him off and unceremoniously low. "Hyung!" he hisses, and if he was flushing before, he knows he's positively beet-red now; his cheeks and neck and ears are terribly warm and embarrassment makes his knees and words wobbly. "I—I've n-never, ever—that's so—how could you even t-think t-t-that—"

Baekhyun sweeps the sand off of his uniform. “Hell, kid, do you know how much dry-cleaning costs for these things?" he snaps, irritated. 

"It's your fault!" Mark says, voice rising. "Why did you have to _say_ that?" 

Baekhyun pins him with a deadpan stare. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because, in your own words, you thought he 'smelled divine' and 'before you could even think' you pinned him to the wall and made out with him. In an alley, for Christ's sake. Real romantic of you, Mark."

Mark's embarrassment is clouded by his need to defend his kissing locations. "He was just there!" he insists. "I wasn't expecting him to be there and it just—I couldn't—he smells so different these days, hyung, and it was _distracting.”_

Donghyuck's scent is richer and deeper and purer in essence, somehow, like wine that's been ripened over years. And Mark had been tired, alright? He had _just_ been at hyung's funeral, had just helped his wife recite the Captain's favorite psalms over his grave, and when he had first recognized Donghyuck, something within him snapped shut. Kissing him had been a refuge from the troubles in his mind. Kissing him had made him forget. Kissing him had made him _feel_ again. Feel so deeply nothing else mattered. 

"Besides," Mark says defensively, "it's not like I wanted to kiss him there. If I had thought about it ahead of time, I would have picked someplace much nicer."

Like the beach. Or maybe the garden. Or maybe the rooftop after one of their moonlit fights. Actually, yeah, definitely the roof. It's the prettiest place in all of Ludus and Donghyuck is definitely the prettiest Omega Mark's ever seen—

"Wait," Mark says, scrambling to his feet. "Wait, _hyung_." 

"Here I am, waiting," Baekhyun says. 

Mark ignores his sarcasm, preoccupied with his new revelation. "Maybe that's why he thought it was awful," Mark breathes. "Because I—because I did it an alley? There was a trashcan right behind us, and it was definitely super gross, and oh my God, maybe that's why I pissed him off? If he's had other kisses that means he has experience and he probably expected something, I dunno, really nice? Wow, hyung, I can't believe I hadn't thought of this—"

Baekhyun sighs, heavy and forlorn, although Mark doesn't know why. "Breathe, kid," he says.

Mark inhales sharply. 

"Go to the tournament and _talk_ to him."

"Yeah," Mark says. "Yeah, okay." 

He will. He definitely will. 

§§•§§ 

The tournament is a time-honored Ludus tradition. For reasons Mark doesn't like to dwell on, he never had to take part in one, but he remembers watching Baekhyun's tapes and feeling awed at his hyung's prowess and irrefutable skill. After all, it's the ultimate test of combat. Each Trainee is allowed one weapon, and each is pitted against the other randomly. From one hundred Trainees, fifty advance onto round two, and twenty-five onto round three; some fights occur in doubles and some in triples, but at the end of all the rounds, only one champion remains. To say Mark is excited to watch Donghyuck fight is a gross understatement. 

The morning of the fight, he wakes up earlier than usual and fixes himself a cup of black coffee, no sugar. He spends an overly long amount of time in front of the mirror, pinching his cheeks until they're less sallow and pinker before he realizes he's being ridiculous. Embarrassed, he grabs his favorite leather jacket, stuffs his feet in his favorite boots, and hurries out of his room before he can do something else equally childish.

Because of size constraints—and also perhaps because Ludus enjoys being dramatic from time to time—the tournament doesn't take place on the Base. Instead, the Trainees bus to a secret location on the island known only to the Trainer, the General, and the bus drivers. Baekhyun had said that there were a lot of cliffs nearby and that the water from his vantage point had been as clear as lucite. But he also mentioned that they changed locations from time to time, so Mark's not sure what to expect. 

He heads to the bus stop—on the other end of the Base near the Engineering Center—and spots a familiar face on the way there. "Jungeun?" Mark calls out, surprised when he spots the Flier's ashy-brown hair. Today, unlike typical, her hair hangs loosely off her shoulders instead of in a tight bun. "What...What are you doing here?" 

She looks less than impressed by his question. "What are _you_ doing here?" 

"Um. Well." Mark shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant even if he feels anything but. "Just, uh, I thought they might need help." 

One Trainer can't possibly watch over all the matches and because the tournament is a one-day affair, Junghwa will need extra eyes. It's standard for Fliers and Pilots, sometimes even Engineers or administrators, to volunteer as expedient referees of some sort. But since it's not an official job—it's considered 'off-hours'—they don't even have to follow the dress code. Hence, Mark's leather jacket, white undershirt, and ripped jeans combo. At least, that's the excuse he'll use if anyone scrutinizes his appearance too much. 

Jungeun's eyebrows shoot up drastically. If she looked unimpressed before, she looks almost scandalized now, as if she's offended that Mark would try her to trick her. 

For a second, he thinks she will call him out, but then she jerks her head and mutters a quiet, "Whatever."

Mark's shoulders slump. Thank God she isn't a huge fan of conversation. 

But as he waits for the bus, his nerves grow considerably and he wishes she would say something, anything, just so he has a distraction. 

Donghyuck will come any second now and Mark is maybe starting to get cold feet. What if he's mad Mark is here? What if he shouts again? Or what if, worse, he looks disgusted? 

"Hypothetically," Mark begins, needing to talk this out, "if you were into someone, you kissed them, and they told you it was awful, does that mean you shouldn't talk to them again? Or go near them? Is that, like, super stalker-ish or...?" Jungeun closes her eyes and Mark panics. "I'm asking for a friend, and he's not really a stalker, trust me. He's actually kind of nice, you know! Really nice! It's just that he cares a lot—"

Jungeun's eyes flutter open. "Mark," she says, "get on the bus."

"The what?"

Staring at him, Jungeun repeats, "The. Bus." 

"The—" Mark's eyes widen when he spots it. "Oh, right." He looks around. "Wait, what about the Trainees?" 

Jungeun's eye twitches. " _Mark_." 

Mark gets on the bus. 

They sit at the back, Jungeun claiming the window seat and Mark more than content with the aisle. It'll be easier to watch Donghyuck that way and—

Jesus, Mark thinks, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans. 

He does sound sort of like a stalker. Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea. 

"Hey," Mark says slowly, "on second thought, maybe I should get off? Doyoung hyung gave me strict instructions on not exerting myself and—"

Calmly, Jungeun says, "I will personally eviscerate you if you back out now."

Mark stays where he is. 

Eventually, another Flier makes his way inside the bus. His name is Junhoe and Mark doesn't know him very well. He's quiet and keeps mostly to his squadron but he nods and smiles at Mark, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes by to his preferred seat. One of his squadron members, someone named Jinhwan, comes next, followed by a few Pilots. Mark recognizes one of Sooyoung's close friends, a girl named Yerin, but no one else. Slowly, the back of the bus is filled up and, like an idiot, Mark's starting to realize that there's a chance Donghyuck isn't even going to be on this bus. 

He isn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. 

"Stop shaking your legs," Jungeun says. 

"I'm nervous," Mark admits.

She sighs. "Whatever."

"Is that your catchphrase?" Mark asks. 

Her eyes flash dangerously.

"Sorry," Mark says. "Stupid joke. I'm nervous, haha." _Please don't actually kill me._

Finally, she rolls her eyes and graces him with a response that's more than a few words long. (And also isn't a threat.) "The Omegas are in this bus," she says. "And before you ask, I checked with a Director, okay? Now please stop bothering me with your inane questions, thanks." 

Mark's too astounded to feel insulted. "How did you know?"

"About what?"

He tugs at his collar. "The, uh, the Omega thing." 

She gives him _a look_. "Your story about your friend wasn't about your friend." 

Mark's never been a good liar. He accepts her silent criticism without protest. "It didn't have to be an Omega, though," he says anyway, partly because the conversation is an ample distraction and partly because he's curious. "How did you figure that out?" 

"You don't strike me as an Alpha who would date other Alphas." 

Well, that isn't the reaction Mark was looking for. He blinks, both surprised and uneasy. "You're wrong," he says under his breath but she catches what he said, anyway, and looks surprisingly expectant, as if she wants him to give an explanation. 

Truthfully, there is no explanation. Mark's attracted to Omegas more readily than other sub genders, mostly due to biology, but his first real infatuation that’s gone anywhere had been with an Alpha he met abroad. They’re only friends now, but Mark doesn't like the thought that anyone thinks he has a type. Because he doesn't, alright? He's not like that. 

But before he can explain this to her and before he can say anything at all, the door to the bus opens again and Mark catches a whiff of the scent that's been on his mind for almost two-and-a-half weeks now. His head snaps forward, and his Bond thickens until it feels like there's a tangible, albeit invisible line, emanating from his chest and going all the way to...

Mark's breath hitches.

Since the kiss, Mark hasn't seen Donghyuck. Not even once. It's not like he forgot what the Omega looks like, not at all, but it's one thing to remember his sun-touched beauty and another thing entirely to drown it in real life. Donghyuck's golden hair is darker and wavier than usual, probably because of a shower; the ends of his strands are still wet and stick to his forehead. His full mouth—the mouth Mark had kissed—the curves of his cheeks, the soft, angled incline of his jaw and his long neck—the neck Mark had almost, almost bit, much to his own endless self-disappointment—all make Mark want to do something incredibly stupid. Like going over to him. Like apologizing in front of everyone. Like bringing his face to Donghyuck's and kissing him senseless again until he's making those lovely little mewling noises again. 

"Calm down," Jungeun says from beside him. 

Mark blinks. "I...what?" 

She rolls her eyes. "Just. Play it cool, alright?" 

"Right," Mark says, exhaling. 

He doesn't want to mortify Donghyuck, and he doesn't want to push Donghyuck away again. It’s his own reckless abandonment that caused this tension to begin with. If only he hadn't been so stupid. If only he asked and if only he grabbed Donghyuck's hand and tugged him some place much cleaner and better-smelling before kissing him. 

So, playing it cool it is. 

Mark can do that. Mark can definitely—

"Is that an Alpha?" Mark blurts out loud. 

Because Donghyuck...Donghyuck isn't sitting next to one of the Omegas Mark knows are his friends. What's that girl's name? The one that cornered him? Heejin? Well, he's definitely not sitting with her, the other Omega girl Mark has seen him hanging out with, or the tall, broad-shouldered Omega boy, either. No, he's seated himself beside a boy Mark has never really noticed; the boy has narrow shoulders and a pointed, narrow face and clever eyes. Mark doesn't know why he wants to clench his hands into fists when he spots the strange boy, but he does. 

Jungeun's gaze is shrewd. "So that's him, then?"

Mark can't even care that she knows. All he needs is her to give him the answer to his question. "Is that an Alpha, Jungeun?" he asks stiffly. 

"Would it matter if it was?" 

_"Keep your eyes closed," Mark whispers._

_"Who says I wasn't going to?" Donghyuck replies._

_It would sound like a challenge_ — _and maybe it is_ — _if not for how breathless he sounds already. Mark smiles, though, because this is his favorite Donghyuck: the one that charges into any battle even if he doesn't know the outcome. He's so incredibly brave. So terribly headstrong. Mark wants him, all of him, every little piece of the impossible puzzle that he is, and so brushes his fingers against Donghyuck's lips and places one hand over his eyes._

_He doesn't want Donghyuck to see the ending._

"Mark," Jungeun repeats, sounding almost concerned, although that has to be a trick of his mind. "Does it matter?" 

Mark settles back in his seat but keeps his eyes on Donghyuck. His shoulders are brushing the Alphas's. He's not pushing him away, even though he's claimed to dislike any and all Alphas. Mark's throat clenches and something icy creeps down his spine; a terrible, awful, seeping anger, one that _shouldn't be there_ , starts haunting him. 

"No," Mark says finally, voice stiff, jagged. "It doesn't." 

§§•§§ 

Mark can't focus on anyone that isn't Donghyuck.

Maybe that's why he keeps being placed in Donghyuck's rounds. Or maybe it's another twist of fate; another series of random occurrences that add up to something so much more than Mark has ever expected. But like he said on the bus, it doesn't matter. 

Donghyuck refuses to make eye-contact. 

It’s undeniable. Every time Donghyuck even comes close to looking at him, he inevitably angles his head or twists his shoulders or focuses his gaze on something or someone else.

Like that Alpha. 

The Alpha he can't stop touching. 

Gripping his hand, slapping his shoulder, once going as far as brushing his hair. Brief, harmless touches. Except they're not, they can't be, because Donghyuck's dislike for all Alphas is well-known and well-articulated. Stupidly, Mark used to believe that he was the exception to the rule. Not anymore, though. Clearly. 

Donghyuck's scent bothers Mark the most. 

He's gotten accustomed to using his scent to pinpoint his rapidly shifting moods. He knows when Donghyuck is irritated, he knows when he's angry and when he's secretly pleased—like during all those times he won against Mark during one of their sparring sessions—based on the way his smell sweetens or sours. But now Donghyuck's scent is completely sweet, rich, and heady. The way it had been during their kiss. A fool, Mark's a fool for ever thinking it meant something, anything. 

Eventually, the Alpha loses his round. He'd won against two others before being eliminated by a girl with silver hair and quick, efficient moves. 

Donghyuck goes over to him, sweaty and still out of breath from his own fight. Donghyuck clasps the Alpha's shoulder, pulling him closer, until they're almost chest-to-chest, and murmurs a few words of encouragement. It's a strangely intimate position. 

Mark clenches his hands. 

And then, because he's feeling petty and angry and perhaps a little petulant, he channels all of his irritation and sends it into the Bond. He doesn't know how he does it. He doesn't know how the Bond works, really. It's just something he does; something that feels instinctual, like learning how to ride a bike and realizing he's a natural. At first, he thinks nothing has happened; that Donghyuck has noticed nothing different, but when Donghyuck finally makes his way to his new sparring partner, he shoots Mark a quick, scathing glance. 

Donghyuck's eyes are alight and turbulent; his mouth, so typically full, has thinned into a flat line. His nostrils flare. He looks so furious that Mark opens his mouth, immediately about to apologize, to do anything to rectify what he's done, anything to pacify the Omega, but then Donghyuck looks away. 

Mark's body floods with cold. 

His Bond stings. 

§§•§§ 

The last fight of the day is between Donghyuck and Na Jaemin. Mark's seen Jaemin before; the Na family is often invited to his grandfather's soirees, but Mark hasn’t been home in a while and this is the first time he picks up on Jaemin's appearance. 

Jaemin’s hair is pink, for one. He's got an impressively expressive face, one that's covered in a plethora of gashes and scratches, some deeper and more agonizing looking than others. His entire body is covered in a thick sheen of sweat. Mark's surprised that he's still able to hold onto his sword: a rather heavy broadside. It's old-fashioned, not an orthodox choice for a Trainee in the tournament, but Mark supposes that it makes for an entertaining fight and besides, it's clearly working for him. 

Donghyuck uses no weapon. Mark hadn't expected him to. He never takes short cuts, after all. 

Mark's heart tugs a little and he can't suppress his worry when he notices how bruised Donghyuck looks. Winning every round hasn't come without consequence. There's a deep, still heavily bleeding cut from his forehead to his right cheek. Blood drips steadily down his neck but he doesn't seem to care. His eyes are intent. His body is pulled loose but he confines his movements as he circles Jaemin. 

He's not trying to give Na any suggestions about where he will strike. 

As it turns out, though, neither is the Alpha. 

He's swinging his sword, watching Donghyuck carefully. Observing him. Smart. Mark would, too, if he were in the ring with Donghyuck—and he has been. 

He knows all too well how many tricks Donghyuck has up his sleeve.

 _Come on,_ Mark thinks. 

All of his icy-cold anger from earlier has wasted away into a muddy, vexing sort of apprehension. He knows how good Donghyuck is and he knows how far Donghyuck will go to win. But if Jaemin has made it this far, it means he's equally skilled, equally capable of holding his own. 

_You can do this. Just be careful._

Surprisingly, Donghyuck strikes first. His feet are a flurry of well-coordinated movements. He's so quick, so nimble despite all the damage he's taken, that Mark can't quite keep track of all the minuscule alterations in his hands and feet. But then his arms are flying outward, his hands squared and knuckles pointing outward, and Mark's stomach tightens into a peach-pit of nervous anxiety. 

_He's not going to make it._

Because Jaemin's swinging his sword, slicing the air in a perfect arc headed straight for Donghyuck's hand. It takes everything Mark has to clamp down on his instincts to stop the fight right then and there. Because the sword is headed for Donghyuck's wrist. Because Donghyuck is fast but not faster than the velocity of a weighted blade. Because Donghyuck is only made of flesh and Mark has seen how a sharp object can tear into flesh and crush into a spine and splinter someone into two. 

_No,_ Mark thinks, heart hammering in his throat. _No, please, don't_ —

There's a small screeching sound. Like nails running down a chalkboard. Like metal hitting metal.

Mark spots a flash of silver. 

Mark's eyes widen when he realizes what he's seeing and for a crazed second, he almost laughs out loud. 

There's a dagger in Donghyuck's hands. 

He has hidden it in his sleeve. It's just the right size to counter Jaemin's sword effectively without losing speed. Judging by the small gasp Jaemin lets out, he, too, is thunderstruck. Just like the rest of the bloodied and bruised Trainees surrounding them.

"Jesus," Jeungeun mutters. 

Mark grins. 

"Surprised, Na?" Donghyuck drawls. His voice is hoarse, ragged, but an undercurrent of delight threads his words. He's clearly enjoying himself. 

Jaemin glowers. He pushes his sword against Donghyuck's dagger, making the Omega waver and play defense for a second. "Enough talking," he growls. "Just fight me, dickwad." 

"My pleasure, fuckwit." 

Mark almost snorts but he's too caught up in the fight to do anything but grin more brightly as they begin their intricate, elaborate dance. Slowly, his nerves die down, too, into something relentlessly warm-blooded and proud. Because Donghyuck's fighting the way Mark fights. Not completely, of course, he would never bastardize his own fighting style, but it's enough of a difference for Mark to notice. Where he typically relies on using someone's strength against himself, now he's relying on his own core as well. He's fighting defensively as much as offensively, the way Mark typically had during their sparring sessions, and he's limiting his motions so they're less energy-consuming and more time-efficient. It's less flashy than before but no less elegant. 

This time, instead of his irritation, Mark focuses on siphoning as much encouragement and belief he can into the Bond; _you can do it, Hyuck; you're good enough; you're more than good enough; come on, come on, come on._

If Hyuck notices, he doesn't show it, but Mark sees the way his body language shifts into something more subtly sure of himself. 

During the second half of the fight, Jaemin charges forward and this time Donghyuck isn't quick enough to move away in time. The edge of Jaemin's blade digs into Donghyuck's torso, cutting a line into his shirt, drawing out blood. 

Donghyuck doesn't so much as wince. 

He jumps backward, as gracefully as a cat, before ducking to his feet and rolling forward. Jaemin catches him with his feet and drives his sword down, but Donghyuck lashes out of his elbow into Jaemin's knee and the Alpha winces, his movements faltering. 

_Good, keep finding his soft spots. You're doing well, Donghyuck. Really well._

It's the perfect time for Donghyuck to use his dagger, but he doesn't. He grabs Jaemin's ankle with a terrible amount of brutal strength; he drags the Alpha to the ground. To Jaemin's endless credit, he uses the opportunity to kick Donghyuck's dagger out from his hands. All the while, he doesn't let go of his sword. Even as Donghyuck presses him to the ground, he keeps a hand on his hilt and thrusts the blade forward, right against the crook of Donghyuck's neck. 

Then, much to Mark's dismay, Donghyuck hesitates. 

He glances at the blade, pupils dilating in fear.

"Well," Jaemin says, close to laughing, "looks I've finally scared you, dickwad."

"Na, don't—"

With precise, careful movements, Jaemin etches a thin line on Donghyuck's neck and Mark almost sees red. He doesn't know he's started to move forward until he feels Jeungeun yank him backward by his shoulder. 

"Mark," she hisses, sounding as pissed as Mark feels, "not here. Don't be an idiot." 

But Mark can't stop watching as drops of ruby-red slither down Donghyuck's shirt. His fingers tremble. He's never felt so angry before and he's been in more Acra fights than he can count. Jaemin is actively jeering now, drawing out Donghyuck's loss, and Donghyuck's face is becoming paler than normal. 

"Surrender and I'll let you go, Lee Donghyuck." 

With each word, he continues digging the blade deeper and deeper into Donghyuck's skin. It's going to cause serious damage soon, enough that Donghyuck will be forced to spend time in the Infirmary, maybe even enough that it hits a major vein. Mark sees red again, this time a more intense hue, this time enough to cause him to shove Jeungeun's hand and stalk toward the center of the makeshift ring, not caring how many Trainees he has to push aside. 

Mark opens his mouth, incensed. 

But then Donghyuck speaks and his voice is a quivering mess. The only time Mark's seen him be this afraid was in the bathroom, and even then Donghyuck's terror had mingled with his typical rage. Now, he doesn't sound angry at all and that realization makes Mark halt in his tracks. 

Donghyuck sounds like a damsel in distress. Like one of those Omegas in trashy novels and TV shows. Helpless. Weak. In need of rescuing. 

And the real Lee Donghyuck—the one Mark knows—never, ever sounds like that, not even in defeat. 

_You're playing him,_ Mark thinks, suddenly light-headed and dizzy with relief. _And I almost fell for it._

"I'm waiting, Donghuck," Jaemin says. 

"Jaemin, it hurts,” Donghyuck pleads.

Mark isn't sure, but he thinks Jaemin hesitates for a second, a fleeting look of doubt crossing his face. 

It's all the cover Donghyuck needs. There's another flash of silver and before Mark can even blink, Jaemin is howling in pain; there's a dagger embedded in his upper thigh, far away from any major organs that it can't possibly be deadly but it's got to be agonizing. 

Donghyuck had hidden two daggers, one in each sleeve, Mark realizes.

Jaemin's sword clatters to the ground. Face scrunched in pain, he clutches his knees with both hands, blood gushing out of his wound torrentially. 

Donghyuck lets go of him and picks up the sword. A smirk dances across his face as he brings it to Jaemin's neck. The tip of the blade touches Jaemin's skin but doesn't incise it. 

"Surrender," Donghyuck says lightly, "and I'll think about letting you go, Na Jaemin."

§§•§§ 

"Your crush is crazy," Jeungeun considers. 

"He's incredible," Mark says in awe. 

Jeungeun sighs but the corners of her lips twitch a second later and she makes a small, suppressed noise that might be mistaken for a laugh. "You're perfect for each other," she says, shaking her head. "Two crazy morons in love." 

Mark can't even be angry with her. His heart does something weird and not unpleasant in his chest when she says in love. He shrugs and she rolls her eyes before plugging in earbuds he hadn't known she brought; which means that on their trip to the tournament, she had only been pretending to ignore him. 

"And you're really kind," Mark informs her. "You thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" 

Jeungeun doesn't reply, listening determinedly to whatever music is blaring out of her earbuds—it sounds like a heavy metal song—but her ears are pink and Mark grins at this new development. 

For the first time since Captain Kim died, the future doesn't seem empty. 

He'll always mourn and there will always be a hole in his squadron that no one can remedy. Some days the weight of his seniors’ deaths will be unbearable.

But he has Baekhyun. They will spend more nights spent on the beach, stargazing and recounting old, untold tales and maybe even drinking soju. Jeungeun will be in his future, too, now that he knows she cares and that her indifferent facade is merely a facade. He also has Doyoung hyung, reliable Doyoung, who sent him a crate of tea when he first got back and who injects him with Sterocil with as much care as a syringe will allow.

And then, well, there's Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck. Champion of the tournament. Mark's... Mark's Mate.   
  
If Mark plays his cards right, he’ll be there, too.

Mark's smile doesn't falter once on the way back to Ludus. 

§§•§§ 

"Where are you going?" Jeungeun asks, suspicious. 

"Infirmary," Mark mutters and he almost misses her eye roll before he's practically sprinting to the clinic. 

After Donghyuck won the fight, Mark wanted to call some nurses right away to tend to the more serious injuries. Junghwa looked like he wanted to protest the decision, but Jeungeun and Jinhwan agreed and there were too many people on Mark's side for him to say anything. Yuqi, one of Doyoung's not-so-secret favorites, had taken one hard look at Jaemin and Donghyuck before crossing her arms and stating they needed to grab an emergency ambulance right away. 

That still troubles Mark, but he trusts Yuqi. 

Besides, the faster Donghyuck's injuries are treated, the better.

He makes it to the Infirmary in record time. It's easy to find Donghyuck. Doyoung is standing by him, for one, fretting and grumbling loudly about careless, foolhardy Trainees. Second, some of his friends are standing next to his bed, too, though Doyoung's doing his best to convince them to be treated. Mark doesn't know how they arrived here before him, but he's glad. 

He slows down as he crosses the room to Donghyuck's designated cot. Somehow, Mark thinks wryly, he has a feeling the Omega won't appreciate his haste. 

He doesn't expect Donghyuck's gaze to lock onto him before he can speak, but then again, he hasn't exactly been trying to conceal his footsteps. And then there's the Bond. As if it senses that Donghyuck is hurt, it pulses even more than usual, growing in intensity and magnitude until Mark starts to feel it physically pull him toward Donghyuck. Donghyuck must feel it, too, because an odd look flickers on his face; a look Mark has never seen before. It makes him look younger and more vulnerable than Mark is used to seeing the Omega. 

"Hyuck," Mark says, and he tries to pack as much of his sheer wonder at Donghyuck's existence into it as he can. 

Donghyuck's brow knits. He looks like he's going to say something to Mark—finally, after all of this time—but then his chest heaves upward and he seems to change his mind. He tilts his head and Mark studies his profile. There's a bandage spanning his entire cheek, and Mark's heart skitters when he sees it. Some of his elation softens into something like solace; Donghyuck is alive, he is well, and his injuries look bad but he will be okay. The wounded, wrathful, wronged bird will be able to fly again before long. 

"Hyuck," Mark says again, this time only for Donghyuck's ears.

_Hyuck, I'm here. I'm so proud of you. And I'm so sorry. For kissing you without your permission. For kissing you when I should have just hugged you. For not kissing you where you deserve to be kissed. Can you forgive me? Please?_

But before Mark can say any of that, before he can convey to Donghyuck how he feels, Donghyuck reaches with shaking hands and grabs someone's chin. No, not someone's. 

It's the boy. The Alpha with clever eyes.

Mark's chest and throat tighten. The words in his mind die before he can even exhale. He wants to run but he's frozen and wide-eyed. 

None too gently, Donghyuck yanks the boy's head down and kisses him, eyelids fluttering shut, his eyelashes gossamer and black and beautiful on his bruised face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Twitter and CC: Crashbang12. 
> 
> As always please, please let me know what you think and how you feel about this chapter. I love reading your comments; they're my greatest inspiration! And thank you so much for all the love. It truly means a lot. 
> 
> (Also, for anyone who's curious the top five of the tournament are: 1. Donghyuck 2. Jaemin 3. Heejin 4. Soobin 5. Yeji)


	10. i.x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three important things to note:
> 
> 1\. This is a very long chapter, and it killed me to write this. It is probably also going to be the longest chapter in this fic.  
> 2\. There is only one more chapter before part one ends. Huzzah!  
> 3\. I had not planned on writing any smut into this fic but as I was revisiting my plot outline, I realized it would make more sense to change that. So, yes, this chapter is rated and yes there is a (completely consensual) sex scene. If that isn't your cup of tea, please stop reading after they enter the grotto. I will summarize what happens from that point on at the end-of-the-chapter notes.

The Bond hisses, seething and straining, and for the first time since the incident at Lake Sejeong, it turns cold, as if a garden of frosted flowers has sprouted inside of Donghyuck's lungs and stolen his air. When Mark kissed him, he had left Donghyuck breathless, too. But Mark had also made his toes curl and his body burn up. He had done things with his tongue and with his hands that Donghyuck still remembers. Donghyuck doesn't want to remember. He wants to erase Mark's touch, to pretend like it never happened, and yet his Bond is being annoyingly belligerent. It tugs at every inch of his skin, exposed or not, leaving behind trails of goosebumps. A thin layer of perspiration coats his palms and his stomach contracts repeatedly.  


_Stop_ , the Bond seems to say, _don't do this_.

Donghyuck grips Renjun's hair and pulls him closer.

A sharp jab of pain erupts in his chest, shattering the frosted garden into slivers of ice that shred even the most remote recesses of his body. He almost falls back on the bed.

Mark... Mark...

Renjun breaks the kiss first. "Dude," he says, surprisingly quiet, "what the fuck?"

Mark has left.

His absence pierces through Donghyuck like a thread through a needle: Everything is stitched in his color. He does not have to look to know that Mark has crossed the threshold of the door and is slipping away from him like raindrops falling through the crevices of his fingers.

(When he was a kid, he used to cup his hands during storms, wondering if he could catch the sky. He could not. Some things are futile.)

"Donghyuck-ah?"

Donghyuck peels open his eyes. There is no storm. No rain. In Renjun's place stands Jeno; he must have traded places with Renjun without Donghyuck noticing. Jeno watches him carefully; although he sports the barest shadow of a frown, his eyes are free of judgment.

Somehow, that's worse.

"Are you all right?" Jeno murmurs.

Donghyuck opens his mouth. Yeah. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't he be? He's Lee Donghyuck, the undisputed champion of the tournament. Once again, he’s the best in his class. Maybe, at a different time and a different place, this would matter enough for him to brag out loud, but at this moment, Jeno's eyes are tender and warm; they remind him of his grandfather's quilts and his grandmother's teas.

They make it impossible to hide. 

He shakes his head.

"No," Donghyuck whispers, voice catching on something intangible, something that shouldn't be real. And yet it is, and yet it is inside of him, a ravenous creature he doesn't know how to satiate. _I'm not okay. I'm the complete fucking opposite, actually._

Jeno nods, looking sad. "That's a start, Donghyuck-ah."

§§•§§

Once the commotion dies down, Dr. Kim steals the others away, claiming he needs to tend to their injuries. Jeno refuses and clambers into Donghyuck’s cot. In a stunning display of maturity, Donghyuck doesn’t scowl when Jaemin hobbles over to give Jeno a goodbye kiss before leaving. 

How can he when he had… When he had… 

Donghyuck plays with his bedsheets, scrunching them in his fingers. Renjun’s confused expression replays in his mind like a chord stuck on repeat. But it’s easier to fixate on Renjun—and also on Jaemin—than it is to ruminate on the hollow ache in his chest; the pain disappeared a little while after Renjun left, but the feeling of… of _emptiness_ remains. 

Donghyuck loathes it. He loathes Lee, too, for being the crux of this painful sentiment. (Why the _hell_ can’t Mark leave him alone? Why is he always _there_?) 

"Na?" Donghyuck says finally. Jeno is watching him expectantly and he knows he has to say something, so he settles on his usual refuge: pettiness. “Out of everyone in this base, you choose him?"

Jeno pinches his thigh, although he's considerate enough not to cause any real pain. "Renjun?" he says back. "Him?"

Donghyuck frowns. Looks away.

"Hmm. So he’s not the one."

"Jeno—"

Jeno shakes his head. "Don't deny it."

"Nothing to deny," Donghyuck says.

Jeno is typically quiet, but his current reticence lingers in a way it usually doesn't, like the aftermath of a slap. There is a faint sting. "I thought we were past lying to each other."

"So you were being honest about Na, right, Jeno-yah?"

"I was never dishonest—"

“Please. Omitting the truth is still lying.”

Across the room, Dr. Kim pauses in his administrative duties; Yuqi, in the middle of injecting a needle into another Trainee's arms, blatantly leans forward, her eyes lighting up in interest. Donghyuck doesn't care about them. He locks eyes with Jeno.

A muscle jumps in Jeno’s jaw. "If that's the case, then all you've done is lie.”

As quickly as it arrived, Donghyuck’s stinginess settles into a more subtle emotion: shame. He’s not sure if the shame is because he’s disappointed Jeno enough for Jeno to finally snap or because Jeno’s seen through him. Donghyuck didn’t mean for that to happen. He has never wanted someone else to figure him out. He still doesn’t, but he’s also coming to realize that, somehow, in the span of a little over a month, Jeno has torn through all of his defenses, like a never-ending hurricane determined to break into a walled city. (Except he’s not a hurricane, not really. If anything, he’s an overgrown meadow full of wildflowers, full of dog violets and marmalade marigolds, heart-shaped leaves and thornless stems, creeping closer and closer to Donghyuck’s fenced territory.) 

“I know I’m difficult,” Donghyuck replies slowly. This time he isn’t trying to be vindictive. “I know I don’t—” Embarrassingly, his voice breaks and he has to inhale sharply before continuing, his fingers twitching. “—make it easy for you. I…I get it. So if...if you want to leave—”

Jeno sinks into his pillow. He pokes Donghyuck’s cheek with the care of someone both deeply fond and deeply exasperated.“Donghyuck-ah. You don’t want me to leave. You’re upset that I’m mad at you and you just want to punish yourself.”

Donghyuck makes a face. Dammit, Jeno.

“I’m tired of us not being honest with each other. We…” It’s Jeno's turn to falter although he does it much more gracefully than Donghyuck. “We said we would be friends, remember?”

“We are friends,” Donghyuck says hurriedly. He swallows before finally making eye-contact with Jeno and muttering a quick, “I'm sorry. Really. I'm just—I'm just not good at any of this.”

For the longest time, the only people in Donghyuck's life were his siblings and his grandmother. Back then, money was tight (it still is; his first check will go to them) and school seemed pointless. He dropped out, helped his grandmother with the house, and took on odd jobs. She taught him everything she knew: hunting and fishing, hacking through fish guts with a homemade machete and boiling gizzards to create mouth-watering stews. She taught him how to brew tea from fallen leaves and how to locate the North star with his blind eye. She taught him how to spot a liar by teaching him how to become one. And although she never taught him how to steal, he learned how to scavenge from her, how to dig into the dirt and find glittering gold. But teaching him how to connect with other people, how to read their emotions and say the right things?

That was never a priority.

So he has no idea how to...do this friendship thing. Not even with Jeno.

Jeno studies him. As if he knows everything Donghyuck is thinking, as if he has somehow deciphered Donghyuck’s painful past, he says,” I know it's hard, Hyuck."

Donghyuck blinks. His chest seizes suddenly, something inside of him whirling and shaking at the nickname. "H—Hyuck?"

Brows knitting, Jeno says haltingly, "Sorry, should I not have... said that? I thought it was... cute?"

Donghyuck frowns at the blankets covering his torso; talking about Mark is the last thing he wants to do, but Jeno deserves... more.“Lee, um," he fidgets, "called me that before.”

"Oh."

Donghyuck doesn't know how Jeno encapsulates so much into one vowel, but he does. It's mortifying. "It's stupid," Donghyuck mutters underneath his breath, his body thrumming with nervous energy.

Jeno curls his arms around Donghyuck's shoulders and gently—as gently as he can, anyway—tugs him backward until Donghyuck's back is nestled against Jeno's chest. Some tubes connecting to Donghyuck's wrists shift, but Jeno adjusts those before Dr. Kim can come over and kick him out.

"Donghyuck-ah? It’s not stupid.”

Jeno sounds like he means it. Jeno doesn't sound like he's pitying Donghyuck, either.

Maybe that's what makes Donghyuck open his mouth. Maybe it's the warmth of Jeno's arms. Maybe it's because Donghyuck isn't looking at him directly anymore. Or maybe it's that deep down, buried in the minuscule crevices of his being, he's been waiting for a chance to tell someone the truth.

So, he swivels around and rests his head on Jeno’s chest until he can hear the steady pendulum-like swing of Jeno's heartbeat. He closes his eyes. He tells Jeno everything: about running into Mark and about Mark carrying him to the Infirmary. About Mark saving him from drowning, about the Bond, about the bathroom and the rooftop, about the moonlit garden, about the way Mark’s eyes crinkle when he’s happy and the way he never lets Donghyuck win a fight easily. Finally, his heart stuttering like a cut wire, his breath faltering like a broken weather vane, he mentions the kiss in the alley and the casual cruelty in Mark’s apology.

_I’m sorry._

_If I knew what I was doing, you know I wouldn’t have done that, right?  
  
_

§§•§§

  
He falls asleep with Jeno's arm haphazardly tucked over his stomach and Jeno snoring in his ear. When he wakes up for the first time, Jeno is still asleep and Heejin is sitting with her legs crisscrossed on the side of Donghyuck's bed, chewing on a pork cutlet. "Want some?" she asks and Donghyuck shakes his head before falling asleep again. When he opens his eyes again—hours later, judging by the clock—Hyunjin is scribbling something on the back of his hand with a ballpoint pen. Donghyuck looks down and sees a quick sketch of the daggers from his fight, shining cobalt on his brown skin.

"'S nice," Donghyuck says.

"I know, right?"

After that, when Donghyuck dozes off again, his mind becomes a maze and the boundaries between reality and imagination intertwine. He dreams about the house in Jeju, about the broken bridge in Seoul, about the base in Incheon, but everywhere he goes, his friends are there with him. Hyunjin sets about redecorating his bedroom in Jeju, and Heejin trains with him in Incheon, and in Seoul, Jeno takes his hand and walks beside him on the crumbling bridge. 

They make it out alive. 

The third and last time Donghyuck wakes up, something feels different. Like the cold has thawed into a warmth as slow and sticky as molasses. He rolls over. He cracks open his eyes. For a brief, tantalizing moment—like the moment before sugar dissolves and leaves behind a sticky, saccharine residue—he thinks he spots the outline of a broad-shouldered Flier sitting by his bed.

But when blinks, the Infirmary is dark, and the chair is empty.

§§•§§

Donghyuck used to be a farm boy which means that he’s a morning person by nature. 

He’s the first one up. Ignoring the obstinate twinge of pain in his chest, Donghyuck smiles when he looks at his friends. Jeno has stolen both of Donghyuck’s pillows and is curled up inside of his blankets like a burrito. Despite being ensconced in layers of thick cotton, his snoring is uninhibited and loud-as-fuck. Heejin, on the other hand, is curled up like a tabby at the base of Donghyuck’s feet. Her socks are only half-on her feet. The crumb-covered plate beside her is still upturned. 

That leaves Hyunjin. 

Donghyuck cranes his head. Hyunjin is the only one who isn’t on the mattress. She’s technically perched on the railing of the cot, her head resting dangerously close next to the infusion pump. She chucked her shirt on the ground because she’s only in a thin cotton undershirt. Ballpoint pen tattoos cover her bare arms. There're designs of weapons, kittens, and also weapon-wielding kittens; Donghyuck’s favorite is a cat with katanas labeled ‘ninja kitty’. 

Dr. Kim sighs heavily and Donghyuck turns around to see the doctor standing in front of his bed. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve tried to get Ms. Kim down from there. I even thought about bringing in another bed.”

Donghyuck scrutinizes the doctor. Despite having tended to most of the Trainees in Ludus last night, Dr. Kim doesn’t have any bags under his eyes. His hair even looks like it’s been brushed. “Why didn’t you?” Donghyuck asks. 

Dr. Kim shrugs. “I thought you might appreciate having all your friends nearby.” 

“Oh—well, yeah.” Donghyuck clears his throat. “Thanks.”

Dr. Kim waves his hand as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about it’. “Congratulations on your win.” 

Donghyuck relaxes a little. “It wasn’t that hard."

“If that’s the case, then next time, I would advise you to win without taunting an Alpha Trainee. They're not known to hold back."

“Neither am I.”

"Perhaps it's time you were, Donghyuck-ssi." Absentmindedly, Dr. Kim grabs a clipboard from the side table beside the cot—of course, he would use something that old-fashioned instead of solely relying on digital records—and says, "It would certainly save Mark a lot of trouble."

Donghyuck's stomach twists. He isn't sure what sort of sound he makes, but he must have uttered something because Dr. Kim looks up quickly. The doctor's eyebrows are practically in his hairline at this point. For a second, Dr. Kim's face is impassive, practically inscrutable, but then his expression melts into something a touch more sympathetic.

"So it did hurt you to kiss Mr. Huang,” Dr. Kim notes. "I thought it might, though I have to admit, you certainly are a very good actor. Have you thought about joining Ludus' theatrical group? I could get you in touch with the director of the Hysterical Histrionics. His name is Kibum."

Before Dr. Kim can continue droning on about whoever and whatever the fuck he wants, Donghyuck blurts out, "That all?" He eyes the doctor warily, unable to hide his discomfort. "You don't have a stupid lecture about not, I don't know, 'going against' the Bond or something? Isn't that your job? Aren't you supposed to tell me what's good for me?"

Dr. Kim places his clipboard back on the table. He folds his arms, although his facial expression doesn't shift into something darker or more forbidding. He looks the same as he always does, except for a little more cross. "My job is to heal your injuries, Lee Donghyuck. It's to make sure you stay alive throughout your training. I'm not your marriage counselor or a licensed therapist, though Ludus employs several of both. In short, it doesn't matter what I think about what you do or who you go out with, so long as you remain a healthy, functioning soldier."

Donghyuck can't think of anything else, so he says, "We're not married.”

Dr. Kim's sarcasm is almost palpable. “No, you’re just Soul-Bonded, the less serious of the two options.”

“Accidentally. Don’t forget that bit.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Dr. Kim replies in perfect, if not accented, English. He turns around, waving a hand as if to signify the end of the conversation. "Yuqi needs you to sign a few documents, but you should be free to go soon. Breakfast is around the corner. Don't forget to rehydrate properly!"

“Wait—”

“I’m a busy man, Donghyuck-ssi. Do not come again! I will _not_ be as nice the fourth time around!”

§§•§§

By noon, Heejin manages to wake up, although it’s mostly because Hyunjin splashes her with a water bottle. Jeno laughs and Donghyuck even manages a flicker of a smile, although he’s too drained to do anything else. Hours later, he still feels terrible, despite the Sterocil still buzzing through his system. It’s like someone has carved a hole inside of Donghyuck’s chest and filled that hole with lead. There’s metal where there should be cells and a heavy weight where there should only be air. It’s not difficult to breathe; it’s exhausting.

Like always, Jeno notices first. “Donghyuck-ah?” 

“Yeah?” Donghyuck replies. 

They’re back in Bunk C4. Hyunjin is taking a shower and Heejin, ironically enough, is napping. Donghyuck can’t blame her. Her last fight had been against Na, who had almost knocked her out completely with his sword. She must be tired, too, and sleeping in such a confined space last night must have only made it worse. 

Donghyuck wants to fall asleep again, too. 

He can’t now, though. Not when Jeno is giving him _the look_. 

He expects Jeno to say something about the Bond. Now that Jeno knows, now that Donghyuck has entrusted him with that bit of information, there’s no doubt Jeno has more questions about Mark. And, well, it’s Donghyuck’s fault, really, for telling him everything. But his voice warm and affectionate, undeniably fond, Jeno only says, “Since this is our day off I was wondering if you wanted to go to town?”

Donghyuck blinks. “Really? But it’s not…”

Wait, it _is_ Sunday.

“Hyunjin and I were talking about it before. She wants to check out this bar in town. I’ve heard really good things about it, too. And, besides… I think we need a break from Ludus, don’t you?” 

Donghyuck loves that he says ‘we’ not ‘you’. 

Jeno mistakes his silence for denial, though. “We won’t have to stay for long,” he says, “but… I mean, Donghyuck-ah, don’t you want to get out of here? To just take a breather from… from _all_ of it?” 

Donghyuck swallows the tightness in his throat. He stands up and stretches his arms above his head. “What civvies did you bring, Jeno? I might want to borrow one of your shirts.”

§§•§§

Apparently, during Ludus’ construction, a stray missile fell on Gwonhyung, the only town on this little, stray island. Thankfully, it hadn’t gone off, but it _had_ damaged one of the residential homes in the area. The owners took it as a sign that they needed a different direction in life and transformed their house into a bar.

It’s called ‘Phoenix’ for new beginnings.

Donghyuck learns all of this during the bus ride to Gwonhyung. Jeno and Hyunjin are both excited and keep spouting off random facts about both the bar and the town. They both dressed up, Jeno sporting eyeliner and a new, exciting shade of lip gloss and Hyunjin having braided her hair into small, funky buns. Heejin, for her part, is snuffling in the crook of Donghyuck’s neck, having fallen asleep as soon as the driver ignited the engine. She’s wearing civvies, too: a plain, black dress that falls just short of her knees. 

Donghyuck matches her color scheme. He borrowed one of Jeno’s sparkly black collared shirts. It feels itchy and weird on his skin, but Jeno’s eyes had turned into little crescents when he saw Donghyuck in it, so he supposes he doesn’t look _too_ bad. 

Not… Not that he cares what he looks like.

He’s a soldier and his body is his most important weapon. That’s all it’s supposed to be. All it _can_ be. Besides, he’s not like Jeno, who looks every bit the sweet Omega he is despite his tall, broad-shouldered frame. Donghyuck is the sallow, toughened callouses on his palms. He’s the pale, swirling scars that litter his back and torso. He’s bruised knuckles and bloodied teeth; if Jeno is a painstakingly constructed glass figurine, Donghyuck is the bits of broken glass that litter the sculptor’s room. There’s nothing fragile or delicate about him. Nothing sweet or lovely.

So, it doesn’t matter what he looks like, really.

Except, as soon as he steps inside of the Phoenix, an infuriating tendril of doubt creeps up in his mind. 

There are so many Omegas here. 

He’s never smelled so many in such close proximity before. And they all smell different: some like golden pears, others like thorny roses, and still others like cardamom or just-baked bread, like home. Some scents are strong enough to be putrid and some are mild enough they almost don’t exist. They belong to both men and to women, to people with dark skin and to people the color of porcelain; to those with long, wavy hair and those with short-cropped cuts. To the boisterous Omegas dancing in the middle of the bar and the shyer wallflowers sitting near the wine-colored walls. 

“The owners are an Omega-Omega couple,” Jeno whispers, beaming when he catches Donghyuck’s look of surprise. “All subgenders can enter this bar, but it’s tailored with Omegas in mind. That’s why there’s so many of us here, though most are from town.” He squeezes Donghyuck’s shoulder. “Isn’t it great?”

“Uh…yeah. Yeah.” Donghyuck feels dizzy. “I…I think I’m gonna get a drink.” 

“Can you get me a gin-and-tonic?” Jeno asks. 

“Sure,” Donghyuck says and nods toward the girls. “What about you two?”

“Vodka on the rocks,” Heejin says, yawning into her hands. She looks a little grumpy, but then again, she’s just waking up for the third time today. “Or soju, I don’t care.” 

“Water,” Hyunjin says. She shrugs when everyone looks at her. “What? Someone has to be sober.” 

The bartender is an Omega with dyed purple hair. She has two piercings on her nose and three near her mouth. When Donghyuck is short on cash, she merely shrugs and hands him a tray full of his drinks, anyway. Donghyuck shoots her a grin, thanks her profusely, and hurries to find the others. 

He realizes quicklythat it’s going to be a difficult task.

The Phoenix is small, sure, but it’s dark and crowded. The only lighting is from small chandeliers hanging on the walls and from candles that serve as centerpieces for some of the tables. The tables themselves are cloistered together in a tight space between the bar and the dance floor. Almost everyone is dancing, though, and it’s hard to see past the mass of writhing and roiling bodies. It’s even harder to squeeze through them to the other side of the bar, but Donghyuck does without spilling his drinks. (Well, without spilling most of them, anyway.) 

By the time he spots his friends, he’s sticky with sweat—not his own, but from the dancers—and exceedingly annoyed at the suffocating sensation in his chest. His Bond, which had remained surprisingly quiet during the bus ride, is tugging at his skin, urging him to leave the bar and return to Ludus. Donghyuck doesn’t get it, not really, but he has a feeling it’s because he’s so far away from a certain Flier. Gnashing his teeth together, he drops the tray of drinks on the table where Jeno is sitting at with Heejin and Hyunjin, and grabs his drink—a glass of red wine; a little cliche, yeah, but what the fuck ever—before downing it in one go. 

“Whoa,” Jeno says. “You all right, Donghyuck-ah?” 

“Great,” Donghyuck hisses.

“You’re sweating a lot,” Jeno points out.

Donghyuck jerks his head toward the dancers. “Thanks to those assholes, yeah.” 

“Donghyuck, if you’re feeling sick…”

“I’m _good_ ,” Donghyuck says. He cranes his head, deciding that the last thing he wants to do is spot the concern swimming in Jeno’s eyes. “Besides, this was _your_ idea.”

“I know, but—”

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd of dancers separates a little, allowing a couple to move past them. No, not a couple. Two Alphas. Two very familiar Alphas; one of whom is the last person Donghyuck wants to see. 

His empty wine glass falls and crashes against the floor. 

Donghyuck grabs the closest drink he can find and starts gulping that, too. 

“Donghyuck-ah, what’re you doing?” 

“He’s here,” Donghyuck says, something folding and unfolding inside of him. He can’t tell what he’s feeling, only that it’s too much, too immense, and that he’s not drunk enough to deal with. “Mark fucking Lee. Fucking hell.” 

And then, before Jeno can do anything, or say anything, Donghyuck sets the drink on the table and starts moving toward the bar again. Bodies shove into him, bodies that belong to people he doesn’t know, people with their own lives and their own beliefs and their own loved ones, people Donghyuck doesn’t know and can’t care about. And yet, he cares, somehow; he cares because it feels like someone’s angled a knife into his heart and torn through the pieces of his very being. He’s bleeding on it: on his own heart, on his own swirling, unrelenting, obstinate feelings.

He stumbles. 

The ground looms in front of him, dark and dirty and unforgiving. It’s going to hurt like a bitch. 

He braces himself for the fall; he knows what to do. Don’t bend below 90 degrees. Shoulders should be wide. Don’t forward roll because the ground will dig into his spine, and that’s dangerous. He can’t afford dangerous, not now, not with his body still healing from his injuries, not with the Bond doing its damn best to cut off his respiratory system. 

He doesn’t fall. Someone digs his fingers into the crook of his elbow and keeps him upright.

For a second, a familiar second, Donghyuck thinks it’s Mark Lee. 

Then the light from the chandelier falls on his rescuer’s face and he almost laughs out loud, so, so close to losing it. 

_Is my entire life some kind of joke?_

“Huang,” he says, not sure if he should feel relieved or like he’s about to be guillotined. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Trying to get shit-faced, obviously, O Drunk One.” 

Donghyuck exhales shakily. “Good plan.” 

He’s not sure what’s written on his face, but Renjun’s grip loosens. “Lee,” he says, cocking his head to the side, “do you need to get out of here?”

§§•§§

“I didn’t take you for a wine person,” Renjun comments.

Donghyuck rests his head against the wall. They made it out of the bar. Now, they’re fucking around on the street somewhere. There’s a ramen place across from him and a convenience store right behind him. The owner of the convenience store looks like he wants to kick him out, but when he smells the alcohol wafting off of Donghyuck, he changes his mind and heads back inside of his store. 

“I don’t really drink, to be honest,” Donghyuck mutters. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Huang any of this, but he’s definitely drunk, and his brain-mouth filter isn’t working. “Don’t have time for—for that nonsense.”

“Clearly,” Renjun replies mildly, “which is why you’re about to puke your guts out now, yeah?”

“Fuck off, Huang.” 

“Not sure you want that, Lee.”

There’s something off about Renjun’s voice. He doesn’t sound smug, exactly, more like _knowing_. Donghyuck doesn’t like it. “The fuck you wanna say, Huang?”

“You ran into that Flier, didn’t you?” 

Donghyuck's blood runs cold. “No.”

“Come on, Lee, I saw you—”

Abruptly, Donghyuck stands up.

But before he can head out, Renjun clamps his hand around his wrist. Donghyuck briefly considers biting him. He doesn’t, however, because, despite his reputation at Incheon, he can be civil to a few select Alphas. Besides. His body is still really fucking sore. And he’s not sure his hand-eye coordination is working properly, either. 

“If you really think I'll let you escape from my clutches again, you’ve got another thing coming.” Renjun’s clever eyes glimmer with a challenge. “Just because you can beat me in a fight doesn’t mean I don’t also have daggers up my sleeves. Clever trick, by the way. Color me impressed.”

Donghyuck stares at him for a few seconds before yanking his hand away from his grip and sitting down. “What the fuck do you want?” he asks again, trying his best to sound more coherent this time. This feels an awful lot like it’s going to be a negotiation and Donghyuck doesn’t enjoy losing, not even with wine bubbling and fizzing in his blood. 

“You kissed me. Let’s stop skirting around that fact, yeah? You, Lee Donghyuck, slobbered all over my face last night.” He pauses. “Or you would have if you’d bothered to use any tongue—if you’d _wanted_ to kiss me.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes and tests his cards. "Who says I didn’t?”

“Then kiss me again." 

So, there it is. Renjun's seen right through him. A bitter taste crawls up Donghyuck’s throat and he gnashes his teeth, aggravated that Renjun isn’t a complete idiot. “You're right, Huang, I didn’t want to kiss you. Now what?”

“Why did you do it?” Renjun asks, his words loud in the night's silence. 

Donghyuck wishes a car would whir past them. He wishes Gwonhyung were a loud, bustling city and not a quiet, snug as-a-bug town. He wishes for an escape route. “I was using you,” he says bluntly, deciding that the truth, raw and brutal, is the best method for these types of situations. “Do you want an apology? Should I kowtow and suck your toenails?” 

“Kinky.” Renjun grins when Donghyuck makes a choked, affronted noise. “But no, neither of those things are desirable.” 

“Then what the fuck is?”

Renjun cocks his head. A moth flies into a streetlamp before falling to the ground, singed wings and all. The smells of fried chicken and soupy noodles waft in the air; the sky is a black envelope cover; there aren’t any stars. Gwonhyung is not Ludus, not at all. And yet, it almost feels like Donghyuck’s back in the training room, facing off against an unknown opponent. Except, this time, he doesn't know what Renjun's motivations are. He doesn’t know why Renjun even bothered to help him, or why he’s asking these questions if he doesn’t want an apology. After all, most Alphas in Ludus would do anything for Donghyuck to snivel at their feet. 

Just then, Renjun beams. It should be a nice smile; it’s broad, evenly spaced across his face, and his shiny teeth are a bonus. Somehow, though, Renjun makes it look demonic, like a smile from a witch in a fairytale who ends up chucking you in an oven or locking you in a tall tower. (Donghyuck watched a lot of Disney movies growing up, all right? Sue him.)

“Rumor is our next test a mission somewhere in the Northeast. Apparently, we’ll be working in teams this time.”

Donghyuck eyes him warily, knowing where this will go. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Well, for starters, I actually have friends.” 

Donghyuck tries to deck him.

Much to his chagrin, Renjun dodges in time.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Renjun says, “as I was about to say before you tried to _hit_ me—which, _rude_ —I want in in your team, Lee. You and the other Omegas. Between you and Heejin, there’s no way your team won’t win whatever trial they put us through next.” 

Despite everything, Donghyuck snorts. “What?” he says, not bothering to conceal his disdain. “Don’t trust your own skills enough to win?”

“No, not really.” Renjun shrugs. “Why, does it seem like I would?”

Honestly? Fuck no. 

Donghyuck crosses his arms, anyway, though he drops the pretense. “I don’t like leeches, Huang.”

“Tragically,” Renjun replies, “I am the world’s biggest leech.” He leans forward, a foolish move considering Donghyuck just tried to punch him. “And you owe me—and no, I’m not nice enough to let it go or whatever else you probably want me to do.”

Donghyuck lets out a breath. One of the greatest lessons his grandmother’s taught him—besides how to scare Alphas—is that resignation doesn’t always have to be a _loss_. That sucking it up and dealing with it, whatever it is, can be what it takes to win. Besides. Renjun’s bargain? It’s not all that fucking bad. If he’s right, if they are placed in teams, then not even Renjun’s lackluster fighting ability will stop Donghyuck and his friends from claiming victory. 

“Fine,” Donghyuck says. And then: “Don’t think this makes us friends.” 

“I would _never_ ,” Renjun says. A moment later, he asks, “So… no friendship bracelets, then?” 

Donghyuck glares. 

“Okay, so what about breakfast? We can do that, right? Right? Come _on_ , Lee!”

§§•§§

Two weeks later, Renjun refuses to leave his side, like an annoying case of the flu (or, well, a leech), and Donghyuck is close to castrating him. It’s not even because Renjun’s annoying (although he is, undoubtedly). Ever since the night at the bar, Donghyuck’s felt like he’s been stuck in a perpetually drunk state. His head feels woozy. His body isn’t working correctly, either. He’s clumsier than usual and his muscles ache and throb whenever he pushes himself too hard (which is most of the time). His temper isn’t alleviated by the fact that, somehow, he still keeps his place at the top of the class; during drills, Jaemin is nipping at his heels, the Alpha growing faster while Donghyuck grows slower.

“You’ll be fine,” Hyunjin says in her typical, straightforward way when Donghyuck complains too much in their dorms. “Is Renjun on our team, then?” 

Donghyuck scowls.

“Yes,” Jeno replies for him. 

Jeno’s currently stuffing several water bottles in his loading bag. Renjun—or, rather, his friends—was right about the next mission. They leave for a secret location tomorrow at dawn. Donghyuck still has no idea what the mission is, but he’s not too worried. He and the other Omegas in Bunk C4 have already divided their storage units by supply. Jeno is carrying the water and food; Hyunjin is in charge of any extra tools that might come in handy, like thermometers, compasses, and portable heaters; Heejin has already filled her loading bag with blankets and many uniforms, some suited for hotter climates and others for colder ones. Donghyuck is in charge of the weapons. They’re not allowed to bring any guns with them—Donghyuck isn’t really sure why—but knives are allowed, so long as they’re sheathed. 

“We still need one person,” Hyunjin says thoughtfully. “Trainer Park said we had to be in groups of six.” 

Donghyuck’s scowl grows deeper. He aims a kick at his loading-bag. 

“We decided Jaemin could come with us,” Jeno says a little sheepishly. 

“Really?” Hyunjin asks. “When?” 

“Well.” Jeno scratches the back of his neck, blushing furiously. “He brought it up and I… couldn’t say no, so.” 

Before Donghyuck can make a snarky comment, the door slams open and Heejin saunters inside. She’s finally recovered from her time in the tournament, because she’s smiling brightly. “We’re definitely gonna win,” she says. “The other teams should just go home now.” 

Donghyuck takes mercy on his bag and straightens. “Go home?” he asks. 

“They’re expelling half of the Trainees after this mission,” Heejin explains. “Apparently, they’re combining our scores from the tournament with the ones from the new mission. They’re aiming to let go of the bottom half of our class.” 

Jeno looks shocked. “ _Half_?” 

Heejin shrugs. “That’s what Renjun said, anyway.”

“Renjun?” Donghyuck repeats, dead-pan. 

“Don’t worry, Donghyuck-ah, I fact-checked. One of the Directors confirmed it.” Heejin yawns. “We should go to bed early tonight, yeah? Get a good night’s rest before whatever tomorrow brings.” 

Eventually, they do as Heejin says, placing their packed loading-bags in the middle of the room before lying down in their respective bunk-beds. Soon, the air is filled with the whirring of the fan and the soft, slumbering sounds of what Donghyuck has to admit are his friends. 

Unlike them, however, he can’t fall asleep right away. His heart is hammering in his chest; his palms are clammy with streaks of sweat. A sudden, awful thought slithers in the back of his mind, as persistent and poisonous as a venomous cobra, and it takes ages for Donghyuck to banish it to the depths of his brain. 

_No. I’m okay, I’m okay._

_I’m still okay._

§§•§§

The plane drops them off in the middle of a forest. Junghwa refuses to tell them the name of the forest but mentions that Ludus refers to its informally as the ‘Half-and-Half’ because during the scorching summer months, when the sun drops behind the mountains, the temperature dips below freezing. There aren’t many animals suited for the climate, which is why, when Donghyuck stomps through the dirt and frost-covered grass of the woods, he doesn’t hear the usual song of dawn birds. 

Instead, the air is punctuated with the sound of heavy footsteps, the occasional curses uttered by Trainees who trip over stray branches or rocks, and the distant roar of a waterfall.

Donghyuck can’t see the waterfall, however. 

Instead, in his immediate line of sight are irregular rows of ash-gray trees. The trees are so tall, he can’t quite see their bare canopies, but in the pale December sun, they resemble gaunt skeletons. The winter weather has stripped away their usual woody smell, too, replacing it with the harsh, biting scent of a cold morning. 

Or, at least, what Donghyuck knows has to be a cold morning. 

Because the other Trainees are sniffling. Despite wearing her new, thermal-lined uniform, Heejin is shivering beside Donghyuck, rubbing her hands and occasionally blowing puffs of warm air onto her exposed palms. Tired of watching her fruitless efforts at regaining some heat, Donghyuck swings his arms forward and catches her hands in his. He squeezes tightly.

“Oh!” Heejin exlaims, shocked. “Donghyuck-ah, you’re so _warm_.” 

A sick feeling settles in Donghyuck’s stomach.

“Yeah,” he rasps, cursing his luck. 

Somehow, Heejin seems to intuitively understand that he doesn’t want to talk. She squeezes back tightly and starts swinging their enjoined hands together, filling the silence with animated comments about everything from how pretty the woods are to how irritated she is that she didn’t just go for it at the bar and kiss Hyunjin. 

“I know I’m hopeless,” she says, frustrated, talking quietly so that no one besides Donghyuck hears her, “but I swear, it’s not on purpose.” 

Donghyuck listens to her ramble. Secretly, he’s relieved that he has someone to hold on to because as the hours' pass, as dawn slips into noon and noon disappears into dusk, as they continue trampling on in this never-ending forest, his legs turn wobbly. If Heejin notices the minute trembling of his hands, she doesn’t comment on it; Donghyuck doesn’t know how to thank her, but he vows to make it up as soon as he can. Another trip to the Phoenix, maybe, just the two of them; he’ll buy her as many vodkas as she wants. 

He tells her this, gritting his teeth as his body pulses with pain, and she giggles. The sound is familiar and comforting. It clears through some of the din in his head and lets him focus again. 

“For what?” she asks. “Being your friend? I don’t need a drink for that, Donghyuck-ah.” She smiles gently. “It’s its own reward.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Donghyuck says, painfully honest.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Heejin raises their hands. “But look! We’ve reached it.”

‘It’ turns out to be a manmade clearing in the middle of the forest. The clearing is oval-shaped and stretches for what looks like miles; a steel division cuts the clearing in half, but the metal wall isn’t high enough to obstruct Donghyuck’s view of the white tents lying beyond the barrier. There’s at least ten tents, each blowing in the wind like puffy-headed dandelions. The other side of the barrier is empty except for wilted grass, pebbles, and the occasional plant. 

Junghwa stops them at the edge of the clearing. His voice is vibrant, floating above the foliage and into their ears with great gusto. 

“Gather into your teams now, Trainees. Your first assignment is to create your own shelter out of whatever you can find in your designated spot in the clearing. The fastest team to finish will be awarded second servings of dinner!” 

As soon as Junghwa finishes talking, two figures zoom toward Donghyuck, one wearing a knit hat and the other looking around desperately. The former is Huang Renjun, because of course he would bring a hat with him, and the latter is none other than Na Jaemin. Spotting Jeno from behind Donghyuck, Jaemin grins and shoves Donghyuck to the side in his hurry to get to his, what, boyfriend? Donghyuck still doesn’t have any idea who they are. For the sake of his reputation, Donghyuck musters up a grimace and shoots it at Jaemin, although, really, Donghyuck can’t be bothered to be pissed off right now. 

“So, team,” Renjun says, looking delighted at his present company, “shall we get started?” 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, but eventually, they all do as Renjun says. They don’t have tarp, or any other waterproof materials, so they decide—after much heated debate between Donghyuck and Jaemin—to construct a round lodge out of as many branches as they can find. Usually, Donghyuck would be one of the ones doing the finding, but all of his base senses are heightened; he can barely stand the bare smells of the forest as it is. He hunkers down beside the area they designated for their shelter—there’s a ring of trees surrounding them that will provide good buffer from the wailing wind—and starts constructing makeshift rope out of long chips of bark and grass. 

It’s painstaking work, requiring diligence and continuous effort, qualities Donghyuck normally has in abundance. Now, however, he cannot stop his fingers from trembling and that messes him up more times than he can count. Eventually, he manages to finish creating a length of rope that spans his forearm, but not without scratches on his hands and sweat dripping down in droves on his neck and back. 

It’s so fucking _hot_ in here. 

By the time Renjun, Hyunjin, and Jaemin return from lugging logs and tree branches into the clearing, Donghyuck is close to snapping. 

“Donghyuck-ah,” Jeno says, offering him a hand, “let’s go help them.”

Donghyuck refuses Jeno’s hand, not offering an explanation of why. The truth is he's sweating so much that little icicles are forming in the folds between his fingers. As soon as Jeno touches his sweaty, about-to-freeze digits, he’ll know something is wrong. 

“Sure,” Donghyuck says, offering Jeno a smile instead. “Let’s go.” 

Somehow, maybe out of sheer, stubborn will, Donghyuck scrapes by with no one questioning his current state. As one of the strongest in their group, he assists Jaemin in heaving the branches upward; his body strains under the pressure, and he knows he will regret it later, but he doesn’t really have a choice right now, does he? Finally, once the branches and logs are upright, and once Heejin has tied his rope—along with several she’s made, as well—around their little hut, Donghyuck staggers backward and flops to the ground. 

The others are too busy celebrating to notice. Jaemin’s crowding Jeno into the side of their shelter, peppering Jeno’s face with soft kisses, and the girls are jumping up and down at their success; Hyunjin throws leaves in Heejin’s hair and Heejin laughs harder than she’s laughed in a while. Donghyuck’s hands curl into fists. He wants to… He wants… 

“You need to leave, don’t you?” 

Donghyuck doesn’t bother looking up. He knows who that voice belongs to. “Fuck off, Huang,” he says hoarsely, the same as he had the night at the bar. 

Renjun crouches beside him, though he’s not polite enough to sit down. “Your heat is coming, O Stupid One,” he says, as if Donghyuck doesn’t already _know_ , as if the thought isn’t already running through his mind with increasing frequency, tormenting him. “You’re reeking, I’m surprised the others haven’t noticed.”

“Why…” Donghyuck begins, fighting to control his breathing “… why d'you think I didn’t go with t-them, H-Huang?” 

Around them, the clearing is abuzz with congratulations and consolations as the rest of the Trainees valiantly attempt to create a shelter. It’s not easy work. They don’t have the right tools and this forest, in the middle of winter, is not exactly abundant with resources. Still, Donghyuck can smell smoke, and he knows some groups have already succeeded and are now working on creating fires to give them warmth during the night. 

“What’s your plan, Lee?” 

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut. “Dunno.”

A hand grips the edge of his collar, and then, with a surprising amount of force, Renjun is hauling him to his feet. (Or maybe it’s not Renjun’s strength that’s at play here as much as it is Donghyuck’s uncharacteristic weakness.) 

“Run,” Renjun whispers in his ear. “I’ll cover for you, so run now, when everyone’s still distracted.” 

“Huang—”

Renjun slips him a knife Donghyuck hadn’t seen. “Keep this under your sleeve,” Renjun says, “just like before. You know what I’m saying, don’t you, Donghyuck?” 

Donghyuck takes the knife. 

And then, he runs into the woods. He wants to spare a backwards glance at Renjun, and at his other friends, but the knife is cold against his burning skin, and he knows why Renjun gave it to him, and he knows he cannot afford to do anything but flee.

§§•§§

Night falls in the forest like the ringing of the last bell before sunset. 

And Donghyuck’s heat falls on him like a shroud on a corpse. 

There’s almost something elegant about the way it ignites from inside of him; burning gently at first, a singular ember in flames, before it becomes a frenzy of fire, of heat, of the pressing, anguished, biological _need_ to bow down and submit to any Alpha that crosses his path. 

But there’s more to Donghyuck than his biology. 

He knows what he wants and what he doesn’t. He knows which instincts to trust and which to deny; he is more than a body begging to be fucked, more than the pheromones that cloak his being; he is more than his lips or his hips, his legs or his arms. More. He’s always been more, he’s always _wanted_ more. 

So, he crawls beside the greatest tree stump he can find. It’s rotting, mucous, covered in a layer of mold and cobwebs. Neon-colored mushrooms grow inside of its worn cracks. Donghyuck rests his head against the edge of the stump and withdraws his knife; it’s the dagger he had used in his fight during the tournament. 

In the moonlight, it gleams burnished silver: a brand, a promise of destruction to whoever crosses his path. 

In the tournament, he hadn’t been allowed to kill. Or to cause real injury. Here, though, trapped in a forest so dangerous it drove out the birds and the buzzing insects, Donghyuck promises himself that he won’t hesitate to cut into arteries, into pressure points, to stab deep enough that it’s not just blood he draws but also bone he mauls. 

He will not—He will not be taken.

§§•§§

The stars would be beautiful if Donghyuck wasn’t in the middle of retching. 

Eventually, his stomach contracts on nothing, and he lurches to his feet, wiping his wet mouth on his sleeve. It’s best not to stay in any place too long. Best to keep moving, so that his trail of scent is a zig-zag and not a straight line pointing to him. 

He looks at the sky. 

Cassiopeia is easy to find, almost as if it’s been waiting for someone to look for it. Donghyuck trails his gaze until it lands somewhere opposite of her; he’s looking for Polaris, the North Star, his quintessential guide. Funnily enough, his grandmother isn’t the one who taught him about Polaris. His mother had, back when she was still something like a mother, back when she used to tuck him in bed and blow raspberries on his stomach to make him giggle. 

_Stop thinking about her._

He starts walking.

The past is the past; the stars are the stars.

_The only way forward is onward._

§§•§§

By the time the moon is a big, fat, white glob in the center of the sky, the second wave of heat hits. This one isn’t a shroud, it isn’t elegant, it isn’t a slow fire. It’s a bullet through his sternum; quick, efficient, painful as fuck. 

He drops to his knees, barely holding on to his knife. 

His eyes burn. Tears slip down his cheek at the same time slick drips down his thighs. It’s disgusting. _He’s_ disgusting, but he’s also powerless to stop both. Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck all of it. 

Wiping his face on his other clean sleeve, Donghyuck curls into a ball on the forest floor, not caring anymore whether he’s buffered from the wind or from the cold; it’s not like the cold can chase him anymore, not when he’s in this state. He doesn’t even care whether he knows where he is; there are no distinguishing landmarks in the area that he can use to navigate back to camp, but it’s not like his heat will end soon, either. 

The only way to stop it would be to… to… 

_I’d rather die before I let any of those fuckers fuck me,_ Donghyuck thinks, relieved that he can still be savagely angry.

He scoots forward until his head is resting on a bed of leaves. Then, he closes his eyes. He rests his knife on his chest.

When this wave washes away, he’ll start moving again. Until then, he might as well as rest his legs. If anyone of those fuckers finds him, he’ll need to be able to run quickly.

In his current state, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to fight them.

§§•§§

When he wakes up, groggy and disoriented, he knows something is wrong. 

It’s not a sound that gives it away or something he sees or even something he smells. No, it’s the way his legs are almost soaked through with slick; it’s the way he’s panting as he arches into the ground, his body shivering not with cold but with immense, suffocating heat. 

It takes everything he has—every bit of pride, of stubbornness, of his hard-earned, desperately-forged strength—to crawl to his knees and stand up. The world is a blurred kaleidoscope of sounds, colors, and sensations, but Lee Donghyuck has never missed a shot before, not even blind. 

The knife whizzes in the air, a clean, beautiful streak. 

It doesn’t spin. It doesn’t over-rotate. It’s as perfect a throw as he has ever made. 

But the sound of a heavy thud or a sickening crunch does not accompany it. And there is no splash of crimson in Donghyuck’s vision, either; the browns and grays of the Half-and-Half woods remain the same. For the first time since Renjun had given him the knife, Donghyuck feels true fear; the kind of fear that has him backing away, careening toward the ground before his vestibular apparatus can even kick in. 

A far-off part of his mind registers how humiliating this is, how utterly pathetic, but before he is a soldier or an Omega, he is a human and when confronted with a monster, humans fight or they flee. 

Donghyuck has no choice but to choose the latter. 

“Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck doesn’t look back. He can’t. He has to get away. He has to—He has to—

He clambers backward, using his hands to propel him when his legs become dead weights. When he swallows, he tastes bile. When he inhales, he smells his own scent, rank and sour with fear; like an endless cycle, it makes him more afraid. Everything else becomes din. Everything else isn’t important. There’s only him, trying to escape. There’s only his own body, threatening to fail him. 

“Donghyuck, please. Come back.”

“No,” Donghyuck snarls without thinking about what he’s saying. There’s only instinct, only hormones, only memories, motivating him now.“No, you s-stay b-b-back—”

The voice comes closer. 

“I won't hurt you.” 

“ _Stay back!_ ” 

For a second, the forest is silent. For a second, if Donghyuck closes his eyes, he might be able to pretend that he’s back in his grandmother’s cottage, snuggled underneath a heavy blanket in the middle of the night. Everything had been quiet, then, too. 

But the illusion shatters in two when he remembers where he is. 

Gasping, Donghyuck forces himself upward, forces his feet to plant on the ground, carrying him vertically. He forces himself to try to walk, to rely on his body the way he usually can. But his body is not listening. His knees buckle as soon as he tries to take a step. His feet trip over nothing. And then, for a second time, Donghyuck is falling, everything around him a cacophony of noise and color, everything painted in streaks and smudges instead of solid lines. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. 

He’s going to fall. 

“Hyuck,” the same voice murmurs quietly in his ear. It’s so awfully familiar, that voice, like an old story he used to read as a child, like his favorite stuffed animal, like his most listened to song. “Hyuck, it’s me. Mark. Can you open your eyes?” 

Maybe it’s the _way_ Mark says his name. Maybe it’s because of a part of him, a part he buried deep and hoped never to unearth, has been waiting for Mark to reappear in his life. Or maybe it’s just because, quite simply, quite involuntarily, he misses Mark Lee’s stupid face. 

Whatever the reason, Donghyuck does as Mark asks. 

Mark’s face looms in front of his vision, unexpectedly crystal-clear. For the first time since Donghyuck met him, he lets his gaze linger over Mark. He lets himself _look_. Mark’s eyes are darker than he remembers, though they’re just as round, just as big. If it weren’t for his eyes, Donghyuck thinks, surprisingly lucidly, Mark would just be sharp angles and hard lines. But he has his eyes, and he has the pink curl of his lips to soften his face; though right now, his brow is furrowed and his mouth is curled into a displeased frown. 

Donghyuck’s heart clenches. 

“Y-You’re mad at me,” he says, choking on the words.

A flurry of emotions flicker on Mark’s face before settling down into one: concern. “I’m worried about you,” Mark says quietly, though there’s a strange terseness to the tone of his voice and slight tension in his jaw. “You’re in heat, Hyuck.” 

Donghyuck swallows, hard. “’ S not a b-big deal,” he says, feeling the need to reassure Mark. “I’m f-f-fine.”

The tension in Mark’s jaw increases. He opens his mouth before closing it, visibly struggling to regain control. 

Donghyuck doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t really understand why Mark’s here, either. All he knows is that he needs to _leave_ , needs to get as far away from camp as he can, but first he needs his—his—

“What happened to my knife?” Donghyuck asks.

“I caught it,” Mark says tightly. 

“Oh.” Donghyuck licks his lips, tries to control his stutter. “Well. I. I need it.”

Something digs into Donghyuck’s hips. He almost winces, but he’s too entranced by the vein jumping in Mark’s neck, light blue-green against his pale skin, to do anything but watch. “Donghyuck,” Mark says quietly, “I’m here now, so no, you don’t.” 

“But I do,” Donghyuck insists. 

“ _No_ ,” Mark says firmly. 

“Yes,” Donghyuck hisses. 

When Mark doesn’t give it back, he tries punching Mark, but his punch lands weakly at Mark’s surprisingly close shoulder. It doesn’t even wrinkle Mark’s uniform, and Mark lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“You can barely move,” Mark says, looking and sounding more and more frustrated. “You can barely walk. You’re in your damn heat of all things, so what the hell makes you think you can _fight_ , Donghyuck? Stop it, please!” 

“I _can’t_.” If Donghyuck could scream, he would; if he could yell, he would. All he can utter is an exhausted hiss, his head falling against Mark’s shoulder. “W-What do you want me to…to do, Mark? J-Just s-s-sit here and w-wait for someone to f-fuckin’ _rape_ me?” 

He can’t see Mark’s face, but Mark’s scent finally engulfs him, almost as if it’s been waiting for Mark to let go and release control over it. Donghyuck knows Mark’s scent by heart, or at least he thinks he does, but this time, it smells different; it smells deeper, muskier, and sharper, and a touch bitter, which it’s never been before. It smells _angry_ , like Mark himself is angry—no, not just angry, but full of the most primordial sort of rage. 

“Mark?” Donghyuck mumbles tiredly. _What’s up with you now?_

Mark inhales sharply once, then twice. Finally, he says, his voice flinty, his words embedded with razor-sharp steel, “I know a safe place. I’m going to carry you there, Hyuck. Is that alright?” 

“But you’re not—oh.”

It’s only then that Donghyuck realizes that Mark is already carrying him. Mark’s hands are hooked underneath Donghyuck’s legs which are, in turn, wrapped around Mark’s waist. That’s why Mark’s shoulder is so close. That’s why he hasn’t fallen. 

_Look at you, being saved by Mark Lee again._

§§•§§

Mark takes him to the mountains that border the forest. It’s a long enough walk that the sun rises again when they step inside the cave Mark picked out, bathing the inside of the cave with golden light. The gold catches on the dark walls, making the stalagmites and stalactites shimmer like molten diamonds. _Like something out of a fairytale,_ Donghyuck thinks, and even the haze of his heat is not enough to diminish the beauty of this place. 

_How’d he find it?_

But before Donghyuck can ask, Mark continues striding forward, ducking past overhangs and leaping over small gaps in the stone, until they’re both in a small, enclave tucked-away at the back of the cave. It is darker and damper than the entrance, but there’s a pool of water here so transparent and clear, Donghyuck can see the multicolored pebbles at the bottom. 

“The water is cold,” Mark warns him a second before settling him down inside the pool. 

The water _is_ cold, Donghyuck finds, relieved. Not enough to make him shiver or to make his teeth chatter, obviously, but enough that it provides a welcome reprieve from the heat raging inside of him. And—he flushes, thinking about it—the water will help wash the slick from his legs, too. 

If only he could… but Mark’s here and… 

Donghyuck bites the inside of his mouth. He feels clearer-headed than he’s felt in a while now. Too clear-headed to say something potentially mortifying, like asking Mark to turn around so he can shuck off his pants or something. 

Instead, he clears his throat and asks, “Uh… how long are you planning on staying here?” 

“How long does your heat usually last?” 

Oh. Sinking deeper into the pool, so that only his head is above the water, Donghyuck says, “Listen, you don’t have to stay that long, really. I’ll be fine now that I’m here.”

“I’m not leaving.” 

“ _Mark_.”

Mark’s face is surprisingly stern. “I’m not leaving,” he says, and he doesn’t quite growl, but it’s close enough that Donghyuck blinks, shocked. 

“Did you just—” Donghyuck snaps his mouth shut when Mark shoots him a look. “—Yeah, right, whatever.” 

Almost as if he surprised himself, Mark ducks his head. His scent shifts a little, transforming into something less intense, a little sweeter. He almost looks and smells like he usually does, which is to say, more abashed than his current self. “You're in danger, Donghyuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I can't just leave you by yourself right now.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Donghyuck asks. “At camp, I mean.” _Are you stalking me or something?_

He doesn't say the last part, but Mark looks irritated, anyway, as if Donghyuck's innocent-enough questions bother him. “Trainer Park,” a chill runs down Donghyuck's spine, “needed a team of Fliers and Pilots to grade the Trainees with him. Hyung...Flier Byun ended up signing me up without telling me, so I had to go.” Mark's voice sharpens. “Though now I guess I'm glad he did. Jesus, Hyuck. What the hell were you thinking, going into heat like this?”

Donghyuck's temper flares at the same time as his heat does. Pressing a hand to his stomach, gritting through the pain, he snaps, “Does it look like—like I f-fucking asked for this, Lee, you—you colossal, f-fuckin’—”

He never quite manages to finish his sentence because his stomach cramps painfully and, as he thrashes backward, he slips underwater. Less than a second later, there’s a small splash and Mark winds his arms around Donghyuck’s waist and pulls him up toward air. “Sorry,” Mark says, sounding almost as anguished as Donghyuck feels, carding his fingers through Donghyuck’s wet curls. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, Hyuck. Are you alright?” 

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s c-c-coming again,” he whispers, already worn out, already tired from what’s about to arrive. 

Mark’s panic is more than clear in the slight tremble in his voice and in the way he squeezes Donghyuck closer to him. “W-What should I do?” he asks, voice rising in desperation. “S-Should I go deeper in the water or…?” 

Donghyuck doesn’t answer, merely gasping into Mark’s neck, but Mark takes that as a yes. He swims the two of them until they’re far from the edge of the pool. Donghyuck feels more than sees Mark settle him onto his lap; the two of them are now submerged in the water almost completely, Donghyuck’s head nested in the crook of Mark’s neck, Mark’s arms squeezed like a vice around his waist. 

“Donghyuck?” Mark asks. “How’re you doing?” 

“H-Hurts,” Donghyuck says. “M-Mark—”

“I’m here,” Mark says. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

It’s the right thing to say. Donghyuck almost wants to cry in relief, because part of him has been waiting for the other pin to drop; for Mark to decide that this, too, is a mistake, that he’s sorry for intruding into Donghyuck’s space or some other equally ridiculous excuse, that he doesn’t want to be here, really. Which, well, he doesn’t, does he? He wouldn’t be here if not for Donghyuck’s stupid, stupid heat. 

That shouldn’t bother him, but it does.

Because he doesn’t—he doesn’t want Mark to think of him as an _obligation_. Donghyuck’s worked too hard for too long, he’s sacrificed too much, to be seen as a burden. He’s not a burden. He can take care of himself, really. Even now. He _can_. He needs Mark to understand that.

He opens his mouth, tries to find the right words, but before he can so much as contract his vocal cords, his next wave of heat fully encompasses him; and this time, it isn’t a shroud or a bullet. It’s a forest fire, all-consuming, destroying everything in its trail. Not even the water can soothe it. 

Donghyuck crumples in Mark’s arms.

§§•§§

He wants. 

He wants so deeply, wants in the core of him, wants for something he can’t name, for something that dances on the tip of his tongue but escapes him when the time comes him to verbalize it. It’s a nameless desire; an instinctual one; like the murmuration of crows in autumn; like the slow drip of winter sap; like the way a flower opens its petals during the spring, basking in the sun. It runs so deep it could have sprouted from the marrow of his bones. 

_Have me,_ Donghyuck thinks, and he’s not sure if he’s saying it out loud, or if he’s screaming it, or if it’s merely the voiceless fragments of words running through his head. _Take me please. Take me here. Take me now._

_I know you want to._

_Don’t you want to?_

But the body—hard and strong, firm, unyielding, smelling purely of Alpha—does not move. Like a mountain, it stays rooted where it is, even though Donghyuck cries and shakes with desire; with the need to be claimed and used and, most of all, wanted. 

_I’m not enough?_

_Why?_

_Why don’t you want me?_

§§•§§

There’s something he’s forgetting. Something important. Something that flits past his inner turmoil, skirting through the gaps in his mind, asking to be found. Asking to be remembered. 

§§•§§

“Mark,” Donghyuck says. Mark smells like a sun-soaked hill of grass, like summer-baked bark. He smells real, he smells earthy, but the good kind of earth, the fertile, foresty-kind, the kind that promises picnics on the park and days spent cartwheeling on lawns. “Mark…”

He’s not sure why he’s saying Mark’s name; all he knows is that it’s comforting to say it, like reciting a spell to banish the monster under the bed. It doesn’t take the pain away completely, but it does help. 

Mark’s fingers scratch Donghyuck’s scalp gently. The pressure feels good, so good. “I’m here, Hyuck,” he says. He sounds tired, too. That’s upsetting. “Is it better?”

“Is what better?” 

“Your heat.”

“Oh. No.” 

Mark continues playing with his hair. “It will be.”

Donghyuck sighs. “What time is it?” He asks. 

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s really important,” Donghyuck tells him, closing his eyes when he feels the familiar, whooshing sensation of encroaching pain. “I n-need to know, Mark.” 

“Okay. Try to go to sleep.”

§§•§§

What is it? 

What is he forgetting?

§§•§§

“What time is it?” Donghyuck blurts out again once his latest wave of heat breaks. “Mark, what’s the fucking time?”

There are bags under Mark’s eyes; his hair is wet, though Donghyuck can’t tell whether it’s purely because of the water or if some of it is because of Mark’s sweat. (Or his own.) “It’s night,” Mark says tiredly. 

“So that means—” Donghyuck freezes. “A day? We’ve been here a day?”

“Something like that.”  


“No,” Donghyuck says, voice catching in his throat. “There’s no way—”  


Mark’s brow furrows. He stops his careful administrations, though he doesn’t remove it from Donghyuck’s hair. “What is it?” he asks, worried.

_They’re expelling half of the Trainees after this mission. Apparently, they’re combining our scores from the tournament with the ones from the new mission. They’re aiming to let go of the bottom half of our class—_

Donghyuck tries to tell him all of this, but once the reality hits him, he can't do anything but gulp in quivering breaths of oxygen; cold creeps down his spine, a sickening feeling unrelated to his heat germinates in his stomach. This can't be happening. He can't be stuck here. Not really. Not when he gave up so much to place first in the tournament. Not when he gave up so much just to make it to Ludus. And for it to all come crumbling down because of stupid fucking, insatiable biology—

He's supposed to be more, dammit. He's made himself into more, so why is this happening to him? Why can't the world ever just let him win? 

"What's going on?" Mark asks. "Tell me, Donghyuck. Is it the heat? Is there anything I can do—"

_What else could it be beside the heat, Mark? What else could it be beside my own damned body?_ "I need to go back," Donghyuck exhales, his throat tight and searing. "I need this to end, Mark."

Mark brushes his hair gently. "It will. We just have to wait it out."

"I can't," Donghyuck says desperately, voice hitching. He fists Mark's wet shirt in his hands. "Don't you get it, Mark? I'm losing time!" 

Mark's expression softens. With more care than Donghyuck probably deserves, Mark drops his hands from Donghyuck's hair and slides them under Donghyuck's chin. "We can't do anything else," he says patiently, almost as if he knows how much this is hurting Donghyuck, but he can't. Not really. He's good, he's kind, but he's still an Alpha. "This is out of our hands."

"No," Donghyuck breathes, cradling Mark's palm but staring defiantly into his eyes. “There's something we can do to expedite this process."

Mark stills. "What are you saying?" he says, voice dropping lower, darkening a little. 

Donghyuck's breath catches in his lungs for a second before he remembers to breathe. There's an intensity in Mark's eyes that wasn't there before, a... a sort of hunger, if Mark Lee can even hunger for him. But even if Mark can't, even if Mark doesn't want him, Lee Donghyuck, the person, surely... surely he wouldn't say no to an Omega, would he? Because, at the end of the day, Donghyuck is an Omega. An Omega in heat. 

A shitty excuse for an Omega, really, but an Omega all the same. 

So he bites on his bottom lip. He's not sure what he's doing, but what the hell. If it doesn't work, he'll blame it on his heat. If it works, then he'll be able to cleave his heat in half; he'll be able to run back to camp, and maybe he'll be reprimanded, but at least he'll still have a fighting chance at earning enough points to offset his unexcused absence. 

He hopes this works. 

"Mark," he says, letting his lashes fall on his cheeks, trying to look the way Jeno does around Jaemin, trying to look soft, pliant, vulnerable, "I...I want you." When Mark doesn't look convinced, he tries again, pressing a kiss on Mark's wrist. "I need you," Donghyuck says instead, correcting himself. 

And this, at least, is true. Because Donghyuck does need Mark. He needs Mark to listen to him; he needs Mark to finally want him back. He needs Mark to—to fuck him. 

“You’re in heat,” Mark says, although he doesn’t remove Donghyuck’s lips from his hand. He looks a little dazed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

_But I do, Mark. At least… I do right now._

Donghyuck smirks—tries to smirk. He feels unsteady, like he’s staring down at the edge of the cliff, about to jump off the edge. Is there a safety net waiting for him at the bottom? Or will it hurt? Will the fall break his body in two? He doesn’t know, but he’s damned if he doesn’t leap. (And he’s damned if he does. That’s the funny part about all of this.) 

“Don’t I?” Donghyuck whispers.

His hands creep lower, running down Mark’s abdomen—Mark shudders and Donghyuck feels it, all of it, the rise and fall of his stomach—and lower until he’s touching something that maybe, just maybe, he’s thought about touching before. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, but Mark lets out a little hiss, and Donghyuck figures, what the hell? The best way to learn is by doing it, right? 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says warningly, though his cheeks are a little pinker than usual. His pupils are more dilated, too. 

And Donghyuck’s a lot of things, but stupid has never, ever been one of them. 

He knows what arousal looks like.

Now he knows what it feels like, too. 

“Don’t you get it, Lee?” Donghyuck says, pushing closer, his breath hovering over the shell of Mark’s ear. “I’m giving you permission. I’m letting you do whatever you want with me. I just need you to knot me in the end.” _I need you to end this for me._ “You can do that, can’t you?” 

Mark’s swallow is audible. If Donghyuck withdrew a little, he’s sure he would see Mark’s Adam Apple bobbing. Mark’s pretty vein would certainly be showing up on his neck again, too. 

He’s wavering. He’s close to saying yes.

Donghyuck bites back a triumphant smile. “Alpha,” he drawls, trying his best to sound sultry, sexy, to sound ruined, like those Omegas in the pornos Alphas like to watch, the ones that will let anyone do anything to them. The ones that will pretend to like it. And isn’t that what Donghyuck’s doing, really? Letting Mark use him? “Please. _Use me_.” 

He expects Mark to fall for it. He expects Mark to succumb to his base desires—he can only marvel at how long Mark held out, really—and do as he asks. Honestly, it’s not like Mark would even have to feel bad about it. Donghyuck is saying yes, Donghyuck is consenting; by all accounts, this is a prize, a prize he’s giving freely to Mark without any terms or conditions. 

He’s surprised when Mark snorts. So surprised that he doesn’t quite know what to say or what to think when Mark clutches the back of his head and pulls him up. Mark’s eyes are still overblown—with what has to be lust—but the corners of his lips are twitching. More than anything, he looks _amused_ , and once Donghyuck realizes that, he considers kneeing Mark in the crotch and running away from him altogether. 

“You don’t seriously expect me to fall for _that_ , do you?” Mark asks, shaking his head. “You, Mr. I Always Win, Mr. I Hate All Alphas, giving up all of his control? Really, Donghyuck?”

“I—I d-didn’t—”

Maybe it’s the blatant astonishment that must be written all over his face, or maybe it’s the way every inch of his exposed skin is turning cherry-red, but Mark finally takes pity on him. He grabs Hyuck’s wrist, draws it to his chest, and holds it tight. “I’ll do it,” Mark says quietly, his eyes searching Donghyuck’s face, though Donghyuck has no idea what he’s looking for. Whatever it is, he seems to find it, because he relaxes fractionally. “But I won’t be _using_ you, Hyuck. If we’re doing this, we’re doing this together.”

§§•§§

Mark is painfully slow. He wades through the water, bringing the two of them to solid ground for the first time in what must be hours. Donghyuck watches raptly as he slowly strips off his soaked, black shirt, revealing pale porcelain skin, broad shoulders, the lion emblazoned on his upper torso, and finally, a layer of substantial, well-defined abs. 

Donghyuck’s mouth dries. 

He has abs, too. Sort of. Maybe not like Mark’s, but he’s fit. He has to be in peak physical condition to have won the tournament, so it’s not like he’s lacking in that department, really, but Mark—Mark is certainly a worthy competitor. 

“Like what you see?” Mark asks, mirth clear in his suppressed laughter.

If Donghyuck weren’t already blushing, he might have turned bright red. He scowls, instead, beyond irritated at how suave Mark is being. What the hell happened to the stuttering, awkward Alpha that graced his door? What happened to Mark’s timid, bashful ways? This isn’t fucking fair. 

“I’ve seen better,” Donghyuck says instead. He clears his throat. “Um, should I t-take mine off, too, or…?” 

Mark raises a brow. “Since when have you ever asked me for permission?” 

Well. Fair.

Frowning, Donghyuck nods quickly before undoing the buttons on his own shirt. He tries to make up for lost time, removing his arms from his sleeves quickly and hurling his shirt on the ground before he can lose his courage. When he looks back at Mark, however, he freezes. There’s a sentiment swimming in Mark’s eyes that Donghyuck can’t quite name, exactly, but the intensity of it makes his legs wobble for non-heat induced reasons. Mark is looking at him more intently than Donghyuck’s ever been looked at his entire life; Mark’s looking at him like there’s something in him that’s worth being committed to memory. It makes Donghyuck’s head spin. He’s not sure if he likes it. 

“So, um,” Donghyuck says, trying to regain some control over the situation, “are you going to—uh…” He gesticulates with his hands, feeling horribly helpless. “You know.” 

He almost wishes his next wave of heat would hit just so he can stop being such a high-school mess about all of this. At least when’s he consumed by fire he can’t worry about making a fool of himself. 

When Mark replies, though, he sounds a little choked, too. Like he isn’t sure what to do or where to go, either. “U-Uh… Do you want to do that?” he asks, some of his typical nervousness coming back. “I mean, only if you want to.”

“You want me to… uh, undress you?” Donghyuck asks, blinking.

“I want you to feel comfortable,” Mark confesses, looking conflicted. “I mean—it doesn’t always have to be, like, the Alpha doing all the... the… the touching. You can do it, too.”

Oh, God. 

Donghyuck has to bow his head to hide the smile threatening to come out of hiding. Part of him is still pissed off, and most of him is still desperate for this to just be over, but there’s a new piece of him that is absurdly, horribly pleased that Mark said that. That Mark wants Donghyuck to touch him. That…Mark knows how much he enjoys being in control. 

Despite all of that, Donghyuck shakes his head. “I kind of,” he fiddles, trying not to lose his nerve, trying not to back out now, “wanted you t-to lead this, um, thing.” It hurts his pride to admit it, but he knows he’s saving himself a lot of mortification in the long run. “So…”

“Okay,” Mark says, exhaling. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.” 

Donghyuck bites his lip and waits. This time, Mark doesn’t take long. He reaches out, intertwining his fingers with Donghyuck, and pulls him to the ground until Donghyuck is nestled back on Mark’s lap. Much to Donghyuck’s disappointment, Mark doesn’t kiss him again, but he presses soft caresses on Donghyuck’s jaw while running his hands down Donghyuck’s back. 

When Donghyuck shivers, Mark shushes him softly and murmurs a quick, “It’s okay, Hyuck.”

And somehow, some way, it is okay. Because Mark knows what he’s doing. Because Mark’s hands are steady and his voice is low and soothing. Because when Mark flicks his fingers against Donghyuck’s already oversensitive nipples, when Donghyuck makes a weird, keening noise in his throat and immediately dies of embarrassment, Mark smiles at him and says he likes the way Donghyuck sounds. Because even though Mark doesn’t kiss him, the lazy way Mark undresses the two of them—shedding their clothes by the entrance to their personal grotto—and the way Mark looks at him like he wants to devour Donghyuck, almost makes up for it. 

“Have you done this before?” Mark asks as he fists Donghyuck’s cock.

And Donghyuck—Donghyuck can’t lie. Not now. Not when every inch of his body is burning, not when the next (hopefully last) wave of heat is settling into his skin. This time it doesn’t even hurt. This time it’s slow, dripping inside of him like molten glass, free to be molded and shaped by Mark’s capable hands. 

“Hyuck?” Mark asks, stalling. 

“Yes,” Donghyuck lies because he doesn’t want Mark to stop; he doesn’t want Mark to take it easy on him, either.

He doesn’t expect the brief look of disappointment that flashes across Mark’s face before Mark is shaking his head again and smiling. “What a pity,” he says, pumping Donghyuck’s cock with practiced precision, grinning as Donghyuck slowly comes undone, “I would have liked to be your first.” 

Donghyuck comes then, quickly, his orgasm ripped out of him. 

When he comes to, he finds Mark looking absurdly pleased. “D-Does it matter,” Donghyuck asks, panting heavily, “that I’m not?” _Do you want me less now that you think I’m not a virgin?_

As if he knows what Donghyuck’s really asking, Mark shakes his head, almost defiantly. “Never,” he says, pressing his sticky, come-laden fingers underneath Donghyuck’s chin. “Not with you.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck says. His heart skips a beat. “Right.” 

“You don’t believe me?” Mark asks.

But it’s not that. It’s more like his feelings are stretching too wide and too big for him to catch. It’s like Donghyuck is looking at Mark, and it’s like he wants to kiss Mark more than he’s ever wanted to do anything else, even winning, but Mark isn’t leaning down close enough. 

“I believe you,” Donghyuck says.

Mark’s smile is almost blinding. Donghyuck’s heart malfunctions again. 

“Do you trust me, Donghyuck?” 

And Donghyuck thinks: no. And Donghyuck thinks: I have trusted no one like this before and the only time I got close, it left scars on places where I did not want scars, Mark. But there’s something about Mark that makes him want to lie. That makes him want to say, “yes,” so that’s what he does and the happy twinkle in Mark’s eyes almost makes the lie feel like the truth. 

“If it hurts,” Mark says, some of his jubilance settling down into something more somber and grave, “I need you to tell me.”

Donghyuck nods, but he’s not really paying attention. He’s burning up, but it feels good this time, it feels so so good, like his body knows what is about to happen, like it’s been longing for this moment since his heat started. (And it has been, hasn’t it? This is what it’s been waiting for.) 

Mark cups Donghyuck’s face when he slides in. He doesn’t prep Donghyuck; he doesn’t have to when rivulets of slick are already sliding down Donghyuck’s thighs, when Donghyuck’s body has been prepping for this moment since… since… 

“How are you doing?” Mark asks, breathing heavily. He’s not pushed all the way in, he’s holding himself back. “Hyuck? Is this—is this too much?” 

Truthfully, it is. Donghyuck’s never taken a cock, much less an Alpha’s cock, and Mark is definitely a testament to his gender. He’s hard and full and long and Donghyuck doesn’t know how he’s going to—to fit it in. He whimpers, only a little, and only by accident, but Mark’s face blanches, and he looks terrified. He looks like he’s about to pull out, so Donghyuck acts on impulse, fear, and a bit of stupidity. He clenches around Mark and pushes down on him at the same time, until _all_ of Mark is inside all of him, until all Donghyuck can think about is Mark and all Donghyuck can feel is Mark; until all that leaves his mouth is a litany of Mark’s name. 

He thinks Mark curses. He’s not sure. Everything is blurring again, everything except for Mark’s concerned face, sweat glinting on his philtrum, his eyes wide and worried. He thinks Mark is saying his name. 

He says Mark’s name back. And then, right as his heat finally consumes him, he says, “Please. _M—Move_.” 

Mark nods. And then Mark is doing as Donghyuck asked, moving, _no_ , pounding into him, and Donghyuck’s eyes fall shut and his breathing blossoms into loud, exuberant moans, and all the pain, the mindless, body-numbing pain, is melded into pleasure so deep and thorough he thinks he could drown in it.

He thinks he wouldn’t mind dying this way.

§§•§§

Once they’re done, Mark brings them back into the water again. Frankly, Donghyuck doesn’t understand how he still manages to move; Donghyuck’s heat has finally dissipated away—more like Mark fucked it away—but the pay-off is body-numbing exhaustion. He tells Mark this, and Mark chuckles, gently settling Donghyuck back on his lap. 

“To be fair,” Mark begins. He’s grinning—a touch too smugly in Donghyuck’s opinion. “You did sort of take my knot, like, twice? Was it three times?” 

Donghyuck scowls with no real malice. “I know you’re just trying to brag about your magical cock, Lee,” he says, closing his eyes, so he doesn’t have to see the look on Mark’s face. “Stop pretending otherwise.” 

“Magical?” Mark says. Oh, the fucker’s definitely smug. “I’ve never heard that one before.” 

“You’re awful,” Donghyuck groans. “Just the worst.”

“Yeah.” Mark’s voice softens, and Donghyuck might be out of his mind, but he thinks Mark is hugging him tighter. “I’ve been told I’m incorrigible when it comes to you.” 

Donghyuck’s heart does that strange thing in his chest. It almost feels like it’s fluttering, but hearts aren’t supposed to flutter. They aren’t supposed to feel light and weightless; _he_ isn’t supposed to feel like that, either, but somehow he is. If Mark let go of him, he thinks he could float in the water with no real effort on his part. 

He knows the feeling won’t last.

Tomorrow will come and he will have to go back to his team. He will be an Omega Trainee again and Mark will be a Flier. They will pretend not to know each other the way they do; and, undoubtedly, once the last bit of heat hormones leaves his system, Donghyuck will feel embarrassed, perhaps too embarrassed to even look Mark in the eye the next time he sees him. Tomorrow will come and everything will be different, but right now, at this moment, in Mark’s arms, he doesn’t care. 

He opens his mouth to tell Mark all of this, but a different scent enters the air and creeps into the small space between their naked bodies. Donghyuck’s mouth falls shut. 

“Donghyuck?” Mark says. He must sense Donghyuck’s feelings through their Bond. “Is something wrong?” 

“I’m afraid many things are, Flier Lee.” Park Junghwa steps inside the grotto. “What the hell are you doing with my Trainee?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of what happened in the grotto: 
> 
> Donghyuck's heat worsens. He drifts in and out of consciousness. At some point, he realizes that he might be expelled from Ludus due to be absent from the mission. He decides he needs to stop his heat as quickly as possible and well. That's where Mark's dick comes in lol. Anyway. They have sex. They have post-sex talk. They are making leaps and bounds in their relationship despite Mark not kissing Donghyuck. (Hyuck has a secret complex about it.)
> 
> Everything's great until Park Junghwa cuts their merrymaking. He finds Donghyuck in Mark's arms and demands to know what they're doing. 
> 
> Cue cliff hanger. 
> 
> The end. 
> 
> Now onto two more points before I drift off into slumber: 
> 
> 1\. ABO verse is notorious for being dubcon. I hope I made it clear while writing the sex scene, but what happened between Mark and Donghyuck was completely consensual. Moreover, they both made that decision together. Granted, it was motivated by Hyuck's heat, and while it's true that without his heat, they wouldn't have slept together, it doesn't mean that at the moment they weren't capable of making their own decisions.  
> 2\. Abuse is a tricky and sensitive subject. I have no wish to glorify it or to rely on it as a crutch. So--and this may be a bit of a spoiler--but Hyuck will not be abused by Junghwa in the next chapter. It will not happen. I don't want to reveal what happens, but rest assured that this story does have a happy ending, that the characters you love will be okay. If anyone has any concerns, please feel free to message me at my CC: crashbang12. If anyone needs me to tag this fic as something I am more than happy to hear you out. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter; it took a lot out of me to write. 
> 
> I also apologize for the comments I have yet to reply to. I read them a lot and they mean a lot to me, so I want to reply to them with as much care and detail as I can, but sometimes that means I reply to them quite late. 
> 
> Finally, as always:
> 
> Twitter: crashbang12  
> CC: crashbang12


	11. i.xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to mention: 
> 
> 1\. This is the last chapter in part one! Huzzah!
> 
> 2\. This is a very Mark/Donghyuck oriented chapter. As you may have already guessed, the cliffhanger from Ch 10 is really negatively impacting Donghyuck, so he does behave in a way that he usually doesn't. You see him in a very vulnerable position. I didn't want to shy away from that, but as I promised last time, there isn't abuse in this chapter. In fact, it actually turned out a lot...softer? than I originally planned. That being said, it still might be sensitive for some of you, so please tread with caution.
> 
> 3\. That's all. I think? Also, there might be a much larger gap between this chapter and me posting the first chapter of part two, but that might change. (Or it might not.) It really depends on my life circumstances.

The fetor of decay fills the grotto. Donghyuck’s scent, which had once been as sweet as harvested honey, turns as sour as fruit rotting on a bed of fallen leaves. The odor is pungent, coagulating as the seconds pass and crystallizing into a thick cocoon around Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck is afraid. 

He shakes violently and presses one hand to his mouth as if he’s ashamed of the sounds he might make if he doesn’t, as if he’s trying to hide, and it’s that visual—of the proudest person Mark knows recoiling in fear—that finally makes Mark move. 

Quickly, Mark whirls them around, unseating Donghyuck from his lap and perching him behind his body. The Bond pulsates as Donghyuck hands wrap around Mark’s waist, as he plasters himself on Mark’s back, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Donghyuck’s emotions flood the Bond. It’s as difficult to pinpoint a particular feeling as it is to distill a single drop of water from the ocean. But Mark doesn’t need the Bond to guess how degrading this must be for Donghyuck. His heat, one of the most vulnerable periods in his life, has been intruded upon by a stranger. 

No, not just a stranger. His Trainer. 

Which presents an entirely different set of problems. 

“Let me ask again,” Trainer Park says. He gnashes his teeth as he speaks; the tendons in his neck are taut. “What the hell are you doing with my Trainee?” 

A wave of anger washes over Mark at Trainer Park’s possessive tone, at his use of _my_ , but Mark schools his face into an impassive expression. This is bad. Really bad. There’s no way of hiding what they’ve been doing, not when he caught them naked and as intertwined as strips of braided bark. They fucked, the evidence of which is written in every corner of this room, and if Park wanted to, he could create a scandal. Mark might be able to get out of that scandal unscathed—his grandfather is on the Council and General Kwon will vouch for him—but Donghyuck won’t. Donghyuck is a Trainee. Donghyuck is an Omega. No, he’s _Mark’s_ Omega, and at the end of the day, Mark agreed to fuck him, so Mark is also responsible for what happens to him. 

Mark needs to fix this. 

He scrutinizes Trainer Park. Currently, Park towers over him, his face furious and his meaty hands balled into fists. He’s glowering at Mark, his teeth bared as if he’s trying to coerce Mark into submitting. But although Park is his senior by age, within the hierarchy of Ludus, they’re equals. A Flier doesn’t have to bow down to anyone, except for their Captain, General Kwon, and other members of the Council. Besides, Mark has no desire to submit, and even if he does, there’s a danger it will only distress Donghyuck further. Donghyuck, for all of his unique contradictions, is still an Omega on the last dregs of his heat. Whether he likes it not, judging by the way he’s holding onto Mark, he’s relying on Mark to keep him safe. 

“I asked you a question,” Trainer Park hisses when Mark doesn’t reply immediately. 

“I’ll answer your questions outside,” Mark says coolly, though he internally winces when Donghyuck’s nails dig into his back. 

“You dare—”

“Outside,” Mark says firmly, reaching back to thread his fingers with Donghyuck’s. 

Age has weathered Trainer Park’s body into shifting sand dunes, but like a superimposed image formed by an arcane projector, Mark catches a glimpse of the mountain of the man he once was: brawny, big, and formidable. He doesn’t bother concealing his rage at being talked down to. He bares his teeth, and Donghyuck whimpers, even though Donghyuck is hidden behind Mark and shouldn’t be able to see anything. 

“Get the fuck away from him, boy.” 

Mark clenches his jaw. His patience is running thin, partly because Park has purposely and overtly produced more pheromones, wafting them in the air as if he’s waving a war flag. “I think you meant to say Flier Lee.”

Donghyuck makes another tiny noise, picking up on the rising tension. It sounds so unlike him that Mark squeezes his hands, as if to say: _It’s okay. I’m going to take care of this_.

Donghyuck’s inner turmoil doesn’t cease, though. If anything, it grows stronger, until Mark feels like a sailor adrift in the vast and roiling ocean. It almost feels like Donghyuck is trying to drown him through their Bond, but Mark won’t let that happen. He has to find the eye of the storm, the singular place where Donghyuck isn’t trapped by the relentless downpour of his own dismay. 

It exists. (It must.) 

Mark twists a little, not enough that he’s revealing Donghyuck, but so he can finally chance a glance at Donghyuck. Donghyuck’s entire body twitches, like an earthworm trying to wriggle back into the ground after it rains, and his eyes, usually vicarious and vibrant, golden-brown, the color of rounded topaz, are squeezed shut. He looks small in a way he has never looked small before. Mark brings their enjoined hands to his face and brushes his lips across Donghyuck’s pulse-point. Then, slowly, he moves his mouth across the cluster of olive-colored veins that stretch out like the ridges of valleys on Donghyuck’s wrist; there’s an old wive’s tale about a vein that leads directly to the heart, and Mark doesn’t know if it’s true or not, but he hopes it is, he hopes Donghyuck’s heart can sense the promise beneath Mark’s touch. 

_Trust me, baby. I won’t let any harm fall on you._

He’s not sure, but he thinks that Donghyuck lets out the softest of sighs as if can hear—and as if he’s starting to believe—all of Mark’s unsaid thoughts. But Mark will never find out if that actually happens, because Trainer Park growls, a harsh animalistic sound that crashes into the walls. The growl of a predator. The growl of a hunter. Something snaps inside of Mark, then, as if he’s back in the South China Sea, facing an entity that clawed its way out of the deep recesses of the planet. He’s never felt this way against a human before, though, and the taste of wrath is both new and terrifyingly familiar. His throat sears with a growl of his own, but he traps it in the apex of his trachea, and, breathing sharply through his nose, and still partially facing Donghyuck, Mark snarls, “You want me to stop touching him, Park? Wait outside.” 

Trainer Park emits another growl, one more agitated than before, before punching the wall. The dark stone ripples and cracks. It is a surprisingly delicate sound. 

Mark tenses. 

Has he pushed too far? Will Park saunter over and sink into the water? Will Park try to lug Donghyuck away from him? _Like hell I’ll that happen,_ Mark thinks grimly, tightening his grip on Donghyuck. He squares his shoulders. But, much to his surprise, Park only stares at him for a moment longer before whirling around heavily. His looming figure becomes a speck, and then even that speck disappears as he exits the grotto. 

Only when Mark is absolutely certain that Park isn’t going to come back does Mark swivel around completely, gathering Donghyuck in his arms, hugging him to his chest. Like a crushed cherry blossom, Donghyuck folds into his embrace easily; the distressed sounds he’s emitting quieten when Mark tucks Donghyuck’s head into the crook of his neck. 

“D-Don’t leave. P-P-Please.” 

Of course, Mark wants to stay, but…“I have to. He saw us, Hyuck.”

Immediately, Mark curses his own lack of tact, because the whine Donghyuck emits is the worst sound Mark has ever heard from him and Mark was there when he fought in a tournament using only his bare hands. Mark was there for every punch Donghyuck hadn’t been able to avoid, for every hit he took and every moan of pain he uttered, but he’s never heard him sound this anguished before. Not able to bear it for long, he hushes Donghyuck and runs his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair in long, slow repetitive motions. 

“I’m going to come back,” Mark says, touching Donghyuck as if he’s cradling a wounded summer bird with clipped wings and torn talons. The Donghyuck Mark knows might use the razor-sharp cracks in his claws to try to maul him, and Mark doesn’t have gloves on, Mark doesn’t have any protection whatsoever. Donghyuck could inflict so much pain if he really wanted to, so much that Mark almost shivers at the thought of it, but Mark doesn’t care. If he was afraid of being hurt, he wouldn’t be a soldier. If he was afraid of Donghyuck, he wouldn’t be here right now. There are things in life that are worth bleeding for. This boy is one of them. “I’m always going to come back.” 

The sour scent still cocoons Donghyuck, but for a second, Mark thinks it sweetens and that the ever-present line between them solidifies into something that feels almost as sturdy as the foundation of a house. And maybe that house is on a dangerous cliff, and maybe that cliff overlooks a jagged coast, and maybe they’ll never get to live in it, anyway. (Fallen birds never choose the confines of four walls when a whole sky waits for them, as vast as infinity.) But Mark doesn’t care. Hope blooms inside of him, and it tastes like ice-cold root-beer floats in Vancouver, it tastes like the promise of something more. Even if there’s not more—and there isn’t, there can’t be—this is enough. Even if it’s just for this moment, Donghyuck trusts him. 

“Promise?” Donghyuck asks. His voice is sunlight pouring through a window caked in dust. It’s everywhere.

Mark uses his free hand to hook his finger around Donghyuck’s pinky. It’s a little childish, but he hopes it makes some part of Donghyuck smile. “Promise.” 

§§•§§

When Mark returns, Donghyuck has left the pool. He’s wearing his uniform again, though it’s not yet dry. Mark mentally berates himself for letting them get into the water with their clothes on. Granted, he’d only done that because he wanted to make sure Donghyuck knew he wasn’t trying to fuck him. Turns out, he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite…But now’s not the time to be thinking about that. He kneels behind Donghyuck’s bent form, and murmurs gently, “Hey. I’m back.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t flinch, which means that he sensed Mark enter. “Mark,” he says, and his voice isn’t surprised, exactly, but it’s uncertain like he’s not really sure why Mark came back. “I—I was just about to leave.” 

Mark’s brow furrows. _What?_

Making sure not to make any sudden movements, making sure Donghyuck can see him through his peripheral vision, Mark touches the edge of Donghyuck’s chin. He brushes Donghyuck’s still-damp skin, and asks softly, “Can you look at me?” 

“I…” 

“Please.”

Donghyuck’s head sways to the side, but Mark cages Donghyuck’s face with his fingertips and forces their gazes to hone onto each other. Donghyuck’s eyes widen. “You’re bleeding,” he says. He touches the groove above Mark’s upper-lip and his face opens like a lotus and ripples with a myriad of emotions. Disapproval is one of them, guilt another. “He…hit you.” 

Mark grimaces. _And I hit him back_ , he thinks with more than a tiny amount of satisfaction. He doesn’t tell Donghyuck this. He lets Donghyuck’s calloused digits graze his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Donghyuck doesn’t look like he believes him, but all he says is, “He’s gone?” His voice is quiet. 

Mark nods. 

“How—how did you—”

Mark frowns. The answer to that question is ugly. Mark knows Donghyuck will hate it, but he can’t lie to him, either. Not when this concerns him and his career. “He’s left to go send a message to General Kwon,” Mark admits. 

Donghyuck doesn’t gasp. He doesn’t make any sound at all.

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, but Donghyuck is shaking his head: _No, don’t say anything_. 

His face is pale—the palest Mark’s ever seen it. As pale as talc, as pale the tips of the stalactites that drop from the ceiling like lamps. Even his lips are ashen. His colorless expression stands out all the more against his fair hair; he doesn’t look like a golden warrior, ascendant in battle. He looks like a ghost. He still looks like a dream, but the kind of dream that ends as soon as Mark opens his eyes. A dream that waits to be forgotten. 

“Oh.”

Mark cradles his face. Donghyuck doesn’t stop him. His skin is wet and cold. Like it was when Mark dragged Donghyuck back onto the shores of Lake Sejeong—when Donghyuck was caged in metal and drowning in seawater, so close to death. “It’s his word against mine and General Kwon will believe me, trust me.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes close. His eyelashes are damp with tears. There would probably be traces of dried tear tracks on his cheeks if his face was dry. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Mark slides his hands into Donghyuck’s hair. “Hyuck,” he says, opening their Bond despite its frigidity, pouring into it as much care and sympathy as he can, “ _please_. Look at me, baby.” 

Mark doesn’t mean to utter the pet name, but Donghyuck startles, his eyes opening quickly. The tinge of pink on his cheeks is a welcome sight. 

_That’s right,_ Mark thinks. He relaxes. _Come back to me._

 _"_ You…” Donghyuck bites his lips. “You said…” 

Mark waits.

Donghyuck trails off before clearing his throat. There’s still a lost look in his eyes, and when he speaks again, his voice is almost too faint to be heard. “I should leave,” he says again, breath wavering, “and say goodbye to J-Jeno and the others—”

“Hyuck, no. Listen to me. Whatever happens, whatever I have to do, you won’t be expelled. I promise.”

Donghyuck looks disbelieving. 

“You’re the best Trainee out there,” Mark whispers fiercely. “You’ve bested _me_ before, Donghyuck, and not many people can do that.”

There’s no anger in Donghyuck’s voice. No frustration or fight, either. When he speaks, he is resigned and a touch bitter. “It doesn’t matter. I…I’m still…disposable.”

“You’re _not_. Don’t say that.”

Donghyuck laughs, hollow. “What…What would you know?” 

“Not much,” Mark admits. He tilts his head forward, until their foreheads touch, until their noses graze, until they are a breath away from a kiss. “But I know I always keep my promises, and I know I’ll keep this one, no matter what I have to do.” His voice drips with earnestness, with sincerity, because he doesn’t know how else to be. “And you don’t have to trust me, and you don’t have to believe in me, but I need you to have hope because you’re far too brilliant to ever be thrown away.” 

The pink transforms into a deep red. Donghyuck’s eyes widen again; this time, his surprise feels like a victory. And yet, there’s more than just surprise swimming in his eyes, more than just astonishment written in his slack face. There’s something deeper, and Mark wants to know what it is, Mark wants to ask, but Donghyuck won’t tell him even if he did. 

“Why?” Donghyuck asks. His brow creases. Mark wants to unroll the skin with his fingers. He wants Donghyuck to smile again instead of frowning. “Why do you care so much, Lee? About what happens to me?”

And this, _this_ , Mark knows the answer to. 

But he doesn’t dare say it. 

Instead, like a coward, he changes the subject. “Donghyuck,” he says slowly, testing the words, “do you want to come back with me? To my tent?” 

§§•§§

Captain Kim used to take their squadron to Bimilui Sup, the Forest of Secrets. Outside of a few surveillance drones, it tends to be almost entirely isolated. That’s because most Fliers prefer testing their Navis in the Himalayas, where the lofty giants, Everest and Lhotse, offer cinematic views and bone-chilling cold. In contrast, the Bimlui Sup mountains are nameless and tiny. They’re also more dangerous, freezing and melting multiple times during a single day. Because of that, the dirt on the mountains is permanently loose. The trees can anchor the forest to the ground, but the mountains have no foundation. They’re in a state of perpetual ambiguity—to fall or to stand? 

Mark prays the mountains choose the latter. 

Because the way back to camp is already treacherous without the added fear of a landslide. A thin sheen of frost, as translucent as spider-silk, covers the trails Mark had used to carry Donghyuck to the cave. It’s hard to spot the ice, especially without flashlights. It’s hard to see anything, really, except for the vague outlines of the occasional birch tree or a large outcropping of rock. 

To make matters worse, Donghyuck is determined to walk on his own. 

Mark offered to carry him, but Donghyuck’s heat is close to ending and some of his typical stubbornness has returned. The Donghyuck that Mark fucked in the cave—the surprisingly sweet Donghyuck that let Mark hold him, and take him, and let him pepper kisses on his bare chest—is gone. But he’s still not quite how he usually is. He’s not as loud, not as brazen. He’s quiet, and mostly, he’s impatient. 

He digs the soles of his water-laden boots on the trail, testing his balance. When he doesn’t fall, he takes another step forward and then another and another; Mark falls back to keep an eye on him. Donghyuck must know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t seem to care. Mark sighs, but gently nudges at the Bond whenever Donghyuck starts heading in the wrong direction. They continue like that for a while until Donghyuck stumbles over an upturned root. 

Mark leaps forward and reaches out to catch him, but Donghyuck evades his touch. Mark falls back, stunned. Donghyuck’s never done that, never, not even when they met. He hated Alphas back then, too, but he let Mark carry him to the Infirmary. And…and all the times after that, he has… 

“Donghyuck,” Mark says, voice strained. 

Donghyuck gets up unsteadily.

“Donghyuck.” 

He starts walking again. 

Mark sighs. “ _Donghyuck_. You don’t know the way back.”

This invokes some reaction. Donghyuck’s shoulders stiffen. He stops and finally, he says, his voice slightly weaker than it usually is, “I’m cold.” 

He expected Donghyuck to curse at him, or to snap, or just to continue walking. He hadn’t expected Donghyuck to actually give him a reason for his impatience, much less a very plausible one. 

“You know,” Mark says, carefully making his way over to Donghyuck, “it would be much quicker if you let me carry you.”

“No.”

“Donghyuck—”

“ _No_.”

“Why?” Mark asks, frustrated. 

_Why won’t you let me hold you again? Why not after everything we’ve already done?_

Donghyuck’s back is turned to Mark and Mark can’t see his face. All Mark can see is the way that moon cascades on his curly hair; the way his dark brown skin is tinged blue in the darkness of the night. He looks like a sculpture hewed from ice, which is so very strange, because most of the time, he is golden, a child of the sun. 

“I’m not your damsel in distress, Mark Lee,” he says finally. He doesn’t sound angry or even frustrated. He sounds exhausted. “Don’t let any of this convince you otherwise, alright?” 

For Donghyuck, it’s a surprisingly gentle admonishment. 

Everything Mark wants to say withers away. He exhales a cloud of condensed vapor; and then, without another word spoken between the two of them, they continue their way down the slopes of Bimilui Sup, and do not stop moving until they arrive on the other half of camp; the half pockmarked with billowy white tents that blow like dandelion seeds in the wind. In the cold, death-tipped night, though, the tents are still and as silent as all of the Trainees and officials continue slumbering. 

§§•§§

Mark presses a hand on the door to his tent. Well, not door. It’s more like a curtain fashioned out of the same springy, durable material that the tents are made out of. The engineers at Ludus integrated with plenty of biotech circuitry, though, so that instead of a physical key, each of the tents open to each person’s designated bioprint. Mark had chosen to use his fingerprints because it seemed simpler than a retinal scanner or voice analyzer. 

The door shines green and swishes open. 

Donghyuck grimaces. He doesn’t look awed. He looks annoyed. Mark’s suspicions are confirmed when they both enter the tent and Donghyuck, surveying the inside, mutters, “They gave you all of this?” 

Mark shrugs, smiling apologetically. “Perks of graduating from the Trainee system, I guess.” 

Donghyuck freezes for a second, but then he stuffs his fingers in his pockets, and asks, surprisingly softly, “Do you have an extra change of clothes?”He sounds embarrassed, but Mark doesn’t know why. 

“Oh! Um, yeah.” 

Mark heads toward his bed. It’s a foldable cot, really, easy to build and take apart, but it’s another luxury that Trainees aren’t given. He lugs his bag from underneath the bed. Truthfully, this excursion is only really a survival test for the Trainees. The Pilots and Fliers accompanying this trip to act as extra teachers and judgers of the Trainee’s abilities have been treating it as a fun camping trip. (Jungeun had been more than a little irked when she found out all the spaces had already been filled.) As a result, they weren’t prohibited from packing more heavily than they would on an actual mission, and Mark had—after Baekhyun Hyung nagged him—brought a bunch of civvies: his favorite sweaters, hoodies, jackets, pajamas, and extra pair of socks. 

_Thank God I listened to Hyung,_ Mark thinks, almost smiling. 

He digs out his most comfortable hoody, thickest sweatpants, and fluffiest pair of socks. They smell like his favorite laundry detergent—thank God he had the foresight to do laundry before he left; it’s honestly a miracle for him—and a little bit like him. (Since he doesn’t _have_ to wear scent suppressors _,_ he usually doesn’t.) 

Donghyuck accepts the clothes without comment, although he averts his eyes when Mark smiles at him. He’s chewing on his bottom lip. “Um,” he says, clutching the clothes to his chest, almost in a defensive stance, “could you…turn around?” 

Mark’s eyes widen. He nods quickly and does as Donghyuck asks. 

Part of him wonders why he can’t look— _I’ve already seen everything, anyway_ —but then again, it’s not like they talked about what they would do…after. Whether they would forget. Whether they would remember. Whether it would change anything. (Donghyuck wouldn’t want that, Mark already knows.) They haven’t had the time, really. Donghyuck wanted his heat to end as soon as possible, so there had been, well, time constraints. And then, when Donghyuck’s heat finally started to end, Park showed up and everything promptly turned to shut.

So, yeah. 

Mark doesn’t really know what he’s allowed to do. 

If the shuffling behind him is any indication, Donghyuck has started changing into Mark’s clothes. _Mark’s_. Sort of like how real couples do sometimes—in the movies, at least. Mark flushes, his heart thumping a little more rapidly in his chest. 

_Stop, brain. Stop it right now. Now is not the time._

“Um. Mark?”

Mark clears his throat. “Yeah?” 

“You—you can turn around.” 

So, Mark does, and if he thought his heart was thumping rapidly before, it’s downright about to jump out of his chest. Donghyuck is wearing Mark’s favorite black hoody. Mark likes buying his clothes oversized, so the sleeves are too long, falling past Donghyuck’s hands and only exposing his fingertips and his ragged nails. He’s engulfed in the rest of the fabric, and it makes him look small, but not in a way that worries Mark, like back in the cave, but in a way that’s, like, kind of… adorable?

Donghyuck’s a lot of things, but Mark never, ever imagined he could look _cute_. But he does. His lips are full, contorted into a small pout, his cheeks are rosy, and his wet curls are starting to dry, becoming a mess of tangled, wild curls. The lighting in the tent makes the curves of his face look rounder and softer, too. 

Mark wants to take a picture so, so bad. 

“You gonna say anything?” Donghyuck mutters, pinching the edge of the hoody between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You look nice,” Mark replies a little dumbly, a little choked. 

Donghyuck covers his face with his hands, except his hands are folded in the sleeves of the hoody. “You should change, too,” he says, voice muffled. 

Mark almost doesn’t hear him, too busy drinking in the sight of him. 

Finally, Donghyuck sighs. “Mark? Hurry up, Christ.” 

“Oh,” Mark says, belatedly realizing that Donghyuck isn’t covering his face to be coy—what a thought, Donghyuck being shy, of all things—but to give him privacy.

Mentally berating himself, Mark hurriedly strips and gets dressed, too. He grabs the clothes at the top of the pile and ends up wearing a pair of old, scrunched-up shorts and his red Vancouver T-shirt. It’s his oldest shirt, and by now, due to repeated washings, some of the ink has worn off so that the shirt says ‘Vncer’. It’s not really suitable for winter weather, but the heating in his tent is working, and he can just wrap himself in several blankets. 

Speaking of… 

Mark clears his throat. “You can take the bed,” he offers.

Well, it’s not really an offer. 

He just climbed down a mountain by himself. Not to mention… Mark had done his best to be gentle in the grotto, but three knots is still…uh, a lot. Whether Donghyuck knows it or not, whether he feels it or not, his body needs rest, and Mark is damned if he’s going to spend the night on the floor. 

Donghyuck's hands fall to his side. 

His face is still pink, but his brows are knitted. He looks conflicted like he’s uncertain whether he should protest Mark’s decision. Except he can’t, really. This is Mark’s tent and technically Mark is his superior officer. Mark’s never wanted to play that card before, not with Donghyuck, not when he is as close to an equal as Mark can get in terms of skill, but he’s willing to right now. It will be annoying, of course. Donghyuck is headstrong, and he’ll argue to the stars and back, but Mark is hardheaded, too. 

But maybe that’s not the right strategy. Maybe he should be shrewd about this, instead. 

“Your body needs rest if you want to catch up to the rest of the Trainees,” Mark tries when Donghyuck keeps hesitating. “You’re…You’re not as strong right now as you usually are.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes flash. He looks pissed, almost back to his typical self. Mark wants to smile at that, relieved, but before he can so much as twitch his lips, Donghyuck lowers his gaze until he’s staring at the floor fixedly. “Do…Do you _really_ think I won’t be expelled?” 

He sounds so unsure, so unlike himself, that Mark wants to hug him again. 

But they’re back at camp and Donghyuck’s heat has ended and… 

Mark stays where he is. His chest aches curiously. “I promise you won’t.” 

_I promise I won’t let it happen, no matter what I have to do._

Donghyuck continues looking at the floor, digesting Mark’s words. Finally, he nods curtly, as if accepting that Mark isn’t lying to him or trying to trick him. “Okay,” he says, exhaling noisily, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself more than to Mark, “fine.” 

Mark suppresses his smile. 

He pulls several blankets out from underneath the bed. Some of them are typical military-style camping blankets—fashioned out of acrylic materials, waterproof—but he had packed some fleecy, cozy ones as well. These he carries to the cot. Donghyuck is sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking extremely uncomfortable at this turn of events. Mark supposes he would feel the same way if the situation was reversed. 

“Here,” Mark murmurs, draping the blankets on his lap. “It might get colder later.” 

Donghyuck isn’t making eye-contact. He’s thrumming his fingers on his knees. “Are you sure—”

“Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck’s lips purse. 

“Hey. I have a sleeping bag, y’know.”

“It’s _your_ bed,” Donghyuck mutters. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

_Where else would you go?_

“It’s not really mine,” Mark says instead, keeping his voice light. “It technically belongs to Ludus—no, don’t give me that look, you know I’m right.” 

Donghyuck’s shoulders slump. He looks like he wants to argue more, but Mark doesn’t let him. He pushes Donghyuck’s shoulders down until Donghyuck is lying down on the bed. The water managed to wash away most of the grime from the cave, but there’s still specks of dirt in Donghyuck’s hair and a trace of cave-dust on his cheeks. Mark wipes it away without thinking and only realizes what he’s done when Donghyuck stills underneath him. He smells like honey again. It’s so faint Mark almost doesn’t pick up on it. 

Mark moves his fingers, and Donghyuck whimpers quietly. 

It’s Mark’s turn to freeze. “Hyuck…” 

“Sorry,” Donghyuck says, voice strained, “it’s, it’s the Bond—”

“Do you…Do you want me to…” Mark isn’t really sure what he’s asking. The question dances on the tip of his tongue. “I could…” 

“Just…” Donghyuck runs his tongue over his bottom lip and Mark watches it, entranced. Everything about Donghyuck is entrancing, even his self-consciousness. “Could you…until I…until—”

 _Oh_. 

Mark gets it. 

Without saying another word, he wraps Donghyuck in the blankets, making sure they cover most of his body, before sitting down at the edge of the bed. Only Donghyuck’s face and tufts of his beautiful golden hair are visible. Donghyuck blushes. He’s blushed more in the last few hours than he has in the last few weeks, at least to Mark’s knowledge, and the thought makes a different kind of warmth flood Mark’s body.

Does Donghyuck feel it?

 _Can_ he through the Bond? 

Mark wants to ask him, but Donghyuck’s eyes have fluttered shut, and his chest rises and falls steadily from underneath the blankets. Mark is tired, too, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him as the seconds' tick, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep yet. He wants to keep looking at Donghyuck because he looks so different in his sleep. The tension that sometimes resides in his face—in the clench of his jaw, in the determined tilt of his frown—is gone. In its place is something close to serenity. To peace. He looks so young like this. So fragile. So lovely. 

_Stay like this forever, please._

§§•§§

In his dreams, Mark is back in the kitchen in Vancouver. Black tea bubbles in the kettle. The sun casts a refracted pattern on the stained table. Mom’s favorite woolen scarf is on her favorite chair. Mark sits down and rests his head on the chipped wood. If he focuses, he can hear a swallow warbling outside of the window and the rustle of leaves as a balmy breeze races through canopies. 

He waits for this to end. 

He waits for the tea to turn into blood. He wants for seawater to flood the kitchen. He waits for the arms of his chair to crack like a broken bone. 

But it doesn’t. 

This time it doesn’t. 

§§•§§

When he wakes up, the sun shines in his eyes. 

For a second, he thinks he’s back in his apartment in the Barracks, but then Donghyuck’s scent hits him and he relaxes. He rubs his eyes and smiles. Somehow, Mark has ended up sleeping while sitting up and his back is punishing him for it, but he doesn’t care. Donghyuck is curled on his side, his hand hanging off of the edge of the mattress. His hair has completely dried, but it’s a bird’s nest now, knotted and tangled so severely that Mark wishes he brought a brush with him.

“A lovely sight, I’m sure, Flier Lee.”

Mark stiffens. He whirls around, almost falling off of the bed. It hits him, then, why the sun is in his face. His door is open. 

General Kwon is standing just inside of the tent. Her boots are polished and her uniform is spotless. Her hair is slicked back into a tight, unforgiving braid. When she raises a single eyebrow at Mark, he promptly gets to his feet, salutes her, and then bows for good measure. 

“Nothing to say, Flier?” General Kwon asks.

Mark closes his eyes briefly. “General, I…” He doesn’t dare turn his back on her, but his stomach churns and he wishes he could look back at Donghyuck. “Could we do this someplace else?” 

General Kwon’s face is a blank canvas. That’s typical—she rarely expresses any emotions—but Mark can feel the disapproval radiate off of her. At least she’s not overtly angry. If she was, she would be bearing her teeth right about now, or at least forcing him to submit to her pheromones. Instead, she appraises him carefully before saying, “Come with me, Flier Lee.”

It’s a command. 

Mark follows her out of the tent. Luckily, most of the others haven't woken yet, though Mark does spot Junhoe and a few others sitting around the ashes of a campfire, smoking. They sneakily ground their cigarettes when they see the General Kwon approach, but she barely acknowledges them. She moves quickly through the clearing until they're back in the woods. Mark has no idea where she's taking him and he doesn't dare ask. 

They stop at a small glade Mark has never been to before. 

Distantly, he can hear the waterfall. 

"There are no drones here. I suppose this affords you the privacy you need to explain what happened, doesn't it?" General Kwon glares. "Tell me why I received an 'urgent' call from Trainer Park, Lee Mark. Tell me why Trainer Park seemed to think you raped one of his Trainees."

"I—what? _No_!" 

"Flier Lee."

"It wasn't—" Mark takes a deep breath and tries to reign in his anger. "General, please, I would—I would never even dream of doing that." _Least of all to him._

"Then why did I see him in your tent?" General Kwon asks. She sounds angry, truly angry, for the first time since Mark's known her. "On _your_ bed?" 

"Do you really think he would be in my bed if I...if I had taken advantage of him?" Mark asks, incredulous. "Do you think I would have tucked him in my bed or given him my hoody or done any of that if...if _that_ was what I did?" 

"Assault is often accompanied by manipulative acts of kindness," General Kwon says calmly. 

"You _know_ me," Mark cries. "And if you knew Donghyuck, you'd know he..." Trusts Mark? Likes Mark? Does he, really? "He's not...We're not...We're..."

"Are you trying to say you're in love?" To her endless credit, she doesn't sound doubtful, merely methodical, like this is just another possibility she has to consider. "That this was an act of...passion? Even if that were the case, it would be against the rules, especially for him. Surely you're not that foolish, Flier Lee, to succumb to such whims." 

"It's not..." Mark struggles. Suddenly, irrevocably, he wishes that Captain Kim was here. He always knew what to say. He always knew how to protect Mark, too. But he's gone forever. Mark's throat sears at the thought and he shakes his head, trying to compose himself. "Here...I'll just show you," Mark whispers, seeing no other way to convince her.

He pulls up his shirt.

"What are you—"

General Kwon's mouth snaps shut. 

She scrutinizes the design on Mark's chest.

"Is that..." 

"Yeah," Mark says, tugging his shirt back down. His cheeks heat up. "It formed accidentally, over a month ago." 

"And this is the first time I'm hearing about it?"

Mark shrugs. "Hyung wanted me to keep it a secret." 

"I see." She sighs. "Very well. Start from the beginning, Mark, and tell me _everything_." 

§§•§§

By the time he’s done talking, the sun has risen completely and some of the ice has already started melting. General Kwon’s face has clouded over and her lips have thinned into a harsh, dagger-like line. And yet, when she finally talks again, she doesn’t sound angry. She sounds thoughtful. “So…you feel what he feels,” she summarizes neatly, “and you can use that to communicate with him nonverbally? A true Bond?” 

Mark scratches the back of his neck. “Um, theoretically? We’re kind of…bad at it, but yeah.”

“I’m sure you appreciate how rare this is.”

 _No?_ “Yeah.” 

“One in a million, Lee Mark. Those are the odds of something like this happening.” 

Mark isn’t sure how to feel about that. He wants to ask her where she’s gotten that statistic from, but he doesn’t dare. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is one in a million. 

“You don’t believe me.” 

“I don’t know what to believe, General,” Mark says honestly. 

It must be the right thing to say because something in her face softens. “You know, I thought about dealing with this when you came back, but a rape accusation is serious. And…to be frank, I couldn’t believe it was _you_. I had to make sure for myself, which is why I’m here.” She tilts her head. “I’m glad I did. I believe you.”

Mark releases a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding. 

“But that doesn’t mean I can excuse this completely, either. The military has strict rules for a reason. Trainees aren’t allowed to have Mates—”

“It’s not his fault, though. It was an _accident_.”

“Do you think the Council will believe that? Do you think they’ll be that kind or forgiving?”

Mark wonders why the Council even has to find out. It’s not like Captain Kim was racing to tell them. Wisely, though, he chooses to keep that train of thought to himself. Instead, he thinks about Donghyuck asleep on his bed. He thinks about his promise. _Whatever happens, whatever I have to do, you won’t be expelled. I promise._ His jaw clenches. He looks at General Kwo, the only woman and the only Beta on the Council of Five. His brother’s greatest hero. Korea’s most reliable General. She revolutionized Ludus. She’s responsible for all of their victories and all of their defeats. Mark has never wanted to disobey her before. 

Mark swallows. “If you try to expel Donghyuck, I’ll take back everything I just said. I’ll…I’ll tell the Council and the press that I did—that I did take him by force. That it’s all my fault.” _You can’t blame him then, can you?_

“You could be court-martialed. Blacklisted.” 

“I know.” 

“And you would still…”

“Yes.” 

“You would take the fall for him,” General Kwon says. It sounds like a question. 

_I never break a promise._ “I would,” he says and means it. 

A shadow of a smile dances across General Kwon’s face. Mark can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her smile. He blinks, confused, and wonders if he should ask her if she’s doing alright. But no, that isn’t a trick of the light. Her smile grows until it can be arguably called a _grin_. She looks relieved. 

“There’s no need for any of that,” she says finally, waving her hand. “I simply wanted to make sure your commitment to him was serious enough.”

“For what?” 

“As your new partner.” General Kwon arches a brow. “I’m aware Lee Donghyuck is the strongest in his class. And now that I know how deeply entangled you are with him. He seems like the most suitable candidate.”

Panic flares inside of Mark. “He’s not trained. He’s not ready.” 

_I’m not ready. Don’t make me do this._

Reading his mind, General Kwon shakes his head. “I’ve made up my mind,” she says simply. “Your squadron has suffered two losses over the last nine months. And since your Navi works best in tandem with another Navi, you’re essentially out of commission, too, until you find someone else to work with.”

“But—”

“There were two attacks yesterday night,” General Kwon says quietly. “Osaka, Japan. Wuhan, China. And as of two hours ago, our radars have started picking up a disturbance near Thailand. Do you understand what this means? The Acra are not stopping. They are growing stronger while we are weaker than we were five years ago.” She closes her eyes, struggling with something Mark cannot see. “You’ll be put on a trial run. You have three months to prove your joint abilities.”

“General, please—”

“My decision is final,” says General Kwon. “Do not make me force you to submit. It will not be pleasant for either of us.”

“He could _die_ ,” Mark says. 

“Minhyung.” General Kwon addresses him by his real name the way only Captain Kim used to do. “We are Asia’s bravest soldiers. We cannot let the fear of death prevent us from doing our best. It is our duty. Our burden.” Firmly, she says, “You _must_ bear it.” 

§§•§§

“Where were you?” Donghyuck asks. He’s still in bed—in Mark’s bed. He’s still lying underneath the blankets. He’s still safe for now.

Mark wants to curl up next to him. Mark wants to apologize. It’s funny, now that he thinks about it. He has always known Donghyuck is destined for great things. Donghyuck is a warrior and Mark is proud of him. Truly. But then Captain Kim died and something inside of Mark went away, too. Something he still hasn’t regained. He looks at Donghyuck, at his bed-head, at his scrunched nose, at the bags underneath his eyes, and he thinks about the way Donghyuck clung to him in fear in the grotto. At the same time, like looking through a double-lens, he sees the spike that tore into Captain Kim’s back with the velocity of a freight train. It missed hitting Mark’s chest by a fraction of a millimeter. 

Donghyuck is the bravest person Mark knows. He has a lion-heart. But even warriors die in battle and Donghyuck is, at the end of the day, a person formed out of skin and bone and blood. All of these things are breakable. Shatterable.

“Mark?” Donghyuck says, puzzled.

_I couldn’t save them._

Mark steps closer.

_What if I can’t save you?_

“I talked with General Kwon,” says Mark. 

Donghyuck whispers, “She expelled me?”

“No.” 

“Then…what?” 

Mark reaches Donghyuck. He drops the badge on Donghyuck’s lap. A bird flying with eight other birds. It used to belong to his brother, but after…after what happened, Ludus confiscated it. 

“Here,” Mark says, “this is yours now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to be a little bit sentimental and thank everyone that's shown both me and this fic so much love. I wasn't expected as big or lovely a response as I got and sometimes I still struggle with it (in a "is this even good enough to warrant that?" type of thing) but it's made my life a lot better. I started writing this fic during a time in my life where a lot of things were going wrong. Things are better (not perfect, not even close, but better) and I'm not attributing that to this fic, but writing it has definitely been healing for me in some way. I hope reading it has provided you guys with joy, too. 
> 
> There's two more parts to go before this fic ends and I'm eager to get there with all of you.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos. Thank you for the comments and the questions in my CC. 
> 
> Secondly, I want to apologize for not responding to all my comments yet. There have been really incredible, long, lovely ones that I read over and over again (well, I read ALL of my comments over and over again, but you know what I mean) that make me want to cry. I want to spend a lot of time replying, so I often reply late. Please don't think that I'm ignoring you or that they don't mean anything to me, because (as sappy as this is) they truly mean the world and make me want to write even more. My goal for the next two days is to reply to all the ones I haven't yet as well as newer ones, so please look forward to that! And ty in advance!
> 
> As always, twitter and CC are both crashbang12. (Feel free to reach out; I never bite!) 
> 
> Much, much love, as always.


	12. ii.i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually isn't as angsty as I thought it was going to be, but especially in the beginning, Donghyuck is a bit harsh on himself as well as self-derogatory. He uses language (directed as himself) in one instance that might be uncomfortable to read, so please be careful when reading.

The jet touches down on the grass runway. 

It reminds Donghyuck of a silver-speckled salmon. Gray wings. A fat cockpit. Not terrible looking, just awkward, skittering through slush like a fish flopping on dry land. The door opens, and a tall man with broad shoulders leans out. He removes his helmet, revealing close-cropped black hair and a classically handsome face. 

“General! I’m not too late, am I?” 

General Kwon breezes through the brittle grass and climbs up the air steps. She tips her head into a bow and he salutes her. "Not in the slightest, Pilot Jung." 

The Pilot whispers something in her ear. The corners of her mouth lift in a small smile and then she enters the plane. 

Donghyuck’s fingers twitch. He shoves his hands back in his pockets, feeling for the smoothened edges of the badge. It's still warm. He tries not to think about why and fails as soon as the Bond jerks in Mark's direction. 

Mark’s arms are laden with at least five bags. Most of them look like they’ve only been half-filled, and Donghyuck wants to roll his eyes at how spectacularly awful Mark is at packing. He should know better, shouldn’t he? He’s a Flier, for fuck’s sake. But it’s hard to even look Mark in the eye, much less roll his eyes at him, during the day. Now that Donghyuck’s heat is finally over, he finally feels embarrassed. No, strike that. He feels humiliated. 

“Mind offering me a hand?” Mark asks. 

How can he sound so casual? Is he...used to fucking Omegas in heat? Is Donghyuck just another notch on his belt? 

(It makes sense if that is the case. It’s not like Mark had been _bad_ at…at what he did. He must have had practice, plenty of it, to be so…so…) 

“Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck blinks. “Wha—oh.” 

He takes one of the loading bags and slings it over his shoulders. He has to suppress a wince. He got some rest last night, but his body is still sore and, most likely, bruised. Not that Mark needs to know that. The idiot will probably end up feeling guilty, or something equally stupid, but it’s not his fault that fucking on a cave floor is rough on skin. It’s not like they—well, Donghyuck, really—had better options. It’s not like Donghyuck even cares. He’s not a paper doll. He doesn’t need to be coddled or protected. He doesn’t _want_ to be. 

(But can he even say that, anymore? When…when _he_ entered the cave…something inside of Donghyuck had shattered and all he could do was beg and cry like a bitch…Fuck, _fuck_ —)

“Donghyuck?” Mark hesitates. “We have to get on the plane.”

“Y-Yeah.” Donghyuck clears his throat. “Right.” 

He steps forward.

“Donghyuck, wait. Um, there’s something—”

Donghyuck’s chest constricts. He doesn’t know why. He keeps one hand wrapped around the loading bag and the other around the badge. Both of these things belong to Mark. He hates that fact, but he hates, even more, the somber quality to Mark’s voice, the promise of difficult truths it brings. Mark will want to ask about what happened to him in the cave, the way Donghyuck buckled under the pressure and suffocating shame, and Donghyuck can’t have that conversation. He can’t answer Mark’s questions. How can he when he can’t even answer his own? When the answers lie somewhere in the past, too deeply-rooted inside of his mind, too hidden behind years of pretending, to even begin to excavate? 

Donghyuck’s memories are minefields, and while Mark is a lot of things—dogged and irritating, brutally honest and unforgivingly nosy—he doesn’t deserve to deal with all of that. Not now, not tomorrow. Not ever. 

“—Please,” Mark finishes. 

Donghyuck blinks again. He bites his bottom lip, chewing on it for a moment, before he says, “Later.” 

Mark sighs and the Bond stings a little from his frustration. 

Surprisingly, all Mark says is a quiet, “Okay.”

Donghyuck swallows the guilt. He hurries toward the airstairs and takes them two steps at a time. When he reaches the top, Pilot Jung helps him up, clasping his hand and pulling him forward. He did the same thing for General Kwon, though, so Donghyuck tries not to feel too bothered by the attention. The Pilot's face is as handsome close up as it was from afar, though now Donghyuck can see a sprinkling of freckles on his chiseled nose and cheeks. 

"Alright?" the Pilot asks warmly.

Donghyuck nods.

"Lee Dongyuck, right?"

Another nod. 

"My name's Jung Jaehyun." Jaehyun offers his hand and Donghyuck's mouth falls open before he gets a hold of himself and closes it. He shakes Jaehyun's hand and Jaehyun says, close to laughing, "Mark looks like he's about to topple over. I'm going to run down and help him, but you can sit wherever you want. I'd recommend a window seat, though. The views are pretty spectacular." 

"Oh. Um." Donghyuck bows his head, a little embarrassed. "Right, thanks." 

"No problem, Lee Donghyuck-ssi." Jaehyun squeezes his hand before letting go. “Good to have you onboard.” 

Donghyuck’s cheeks warm and he nods briefly before hurrying inside. This is definitely another transport plane, probably meant only for personnel use, but it’s a lot roomier and more luxurious than the planes Ludus used to fly the Trainees into the forest. It might be a Lockheed or it might be a custom model. Whatever. He finds a good seat near the back of the plane—where he won’t accidentally run into General Kwon; the thought makes him gulp—and sits beside the window. He looks out. 

The melted ice and snow are slowly turning into an unappealing shade of brown. Tufts of grass pop up from underneath the sludge, colored sickly green. Winter is here, or maybe it’s never left, but Donghyuck longs for spring. Life doesn’t really change with the weather, but a warm breeze and the sprouting of small buds on a birch tree can still feel… magical, somehow. Besides, spring has always been the twins’ favorite season. 

Donghyuck’s brow furrows. 

Now that he’s… a Flier—the thought makes his heart race—he can…Well, he might be able to finally visit his family again. He might finally be able to face them again. Not as a Flier, though—he hasn’t earned that title yet; the badge in his pocket is an unexpected turn of events at best and a handout at worst—but as…as something close. A soldier. A soldier who is worthy of his family’s consideration. (Not love, not yet. Love should be saved for the spring, and he’s not the spring or the summer. He’s like this forest: in-between seasons.) 

His throat tightens.

He misses Yuna’s biting remarks, her teasing laugh, and the way she digs her sharp, freshly-done nails in the crook of his elbow when she’s excited. He misses the twins, too. Misses the way they pile on top of him when they sleep. A pair of puppies, those two, and impossible to separate one from the other. Most of all, he misses his grandmother. She’s never been a kind woman, but sometimes Donghyuck needs to hear the bite her in words, as rough and unforgiving as a dog’s maw, to feel whole again. (Pain doesn’t always have to be bad. Pain means he’s alive, still.) 

“Donghyuck-ssi?” 

Donghyuck looks up. “Huh?”

“Can I sit here?” Jaehyun asks. 

Donghyuck tilts his head. “Aren’t you the Pilot?”

Jaehyun laughs and his cheeks dimple. “I’m actually the Junior Pilot. My commanding officer, Kim Jongin, is the one who’ll take us home.” 

_Home_. Jaehyun says it so easily. 

“Sure,” Donghyuck says finally, reluctantly. It’s not like he has an excuse anymore. 

Jaehyun flashes him another smile before sitting down. He’s too broad for the seat, and his shoulder brushes Donghyuck’s. Donghyuck flinches but Jaehyun doesn’t seem to notice. He buckles his seatbelt and says, “Thanks, Donghyuck-ssi. You have no idea how cute Mark gets when he’s jealous.”

“W-What?”

Jaehyun finally looks in his direction. Behind the casual friendliness in his eyes is a barely-veiled layer of mischief. “You know he wanted to sit next to you, right? I just got here first.”

No, Donghyuck doesn’t know, though… though maybe he suspected. He can’t stop himself from flushing because Jeno’s gaze is so _knowing_. 

How much does Jaehhyun know, anyway? Can he smell Mark on him? Donghyuck tugs at his collar, suddenly uncomfortable. He changed into his old clothes as soon as he could, despite Mark’s protests, but he hasn’t had the chance to take a shower, so technically… Mark’s scent is… 

“It’s cool, Donghyuck-ssi.” Jaehyun shrugs as if he knows what Donghyuck’s thinking. “Almost half the Fliers have Mates and the ones that don’t still have flings and relationships.” His voice quietens. “It’s not fun to go out there without having someone who’ll miss you when you’re gone.” 

Jaehyun’s voice is so somber that Donghyuck can’t help but ask, “Do you? Have someone out there?”

“I used to.”

“Oh.”

Jaehyun rests a hand on his leg and Donghyuck almost flinches. “Enough about that. The real reason I came here—besides annoying Mark, of course—is because I wanted to warn you ahead of time.” 

_About what?_

“Mark’s like my little brother, even if I don’t see him a lot these days, and he’ll be good to you as a Mate—” 

_So he does know_ , Donghyuck thinks, flustered.

“—but he won’t be easy as a co-Flier. Trying to get him to cooperate will be like asking lightning to go inside of a glass bottle.”

Donghyuck relaxes. “I’m not afraid of lightning.”

It’s true. He’s never been afraid of lightning, or fire, or drowning, or death. Catch lightning in a bottle? Maybe he’s never done that, but he has spent many nights in his life hunting for fireflies and capturing them in cheap plastic water bottles. 

“Brave one, aren’t you?” Jaehyun says. 

Donghyuck turns toward the window. His friends are still out there, and he won’t be able to help them. Not today and not tomorrow, either. His eyes sting, but he blinks away the feeling. They’ll be okay. They don’t _need_ him. (Maybe it’s always been the other way around.) And they’ll have less bullshit on their plate now that he’s gone, anyway. 

When the tightness in Donghyuck’s throat disappears, he replies. “Yeah. I am.” 

§§•§§

“Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck peels open his eyes. There’s a crick in his neck and he makes a face before rolling his shoulders. “Did Jaehyun leave?”

_Or did you kick him out, Mark?_

“He had to. He’s helping Jongin land.”

Donghyuck swallows the sharp, bitter taste of disappointment. “Right,” he says awkwardly. He keeps looking out of the window. Below, the gray walls of Ludus come into focus. “Cool.” 

“I think he likes you.”

There’s something odd about Mark’s voice but it doesn’t sound like jealousy. Donghyuck doesn’t want to ask what it is. He doesn’t want to keep this conversation going. He doesn’t want to keep pretending like he didn’t give up the most vulnerable moments of his life to Mark Lee: the ace Flier, the perfect Alpha, the embodiment of lightning in a bottle, apparently. 

“Is that so surprising, Lee?” 

Ludus is becoming bigger and bigger. In minutes, they’ll start descending. He hates this part the most. 

The Bond shifts a little but so quickly and subtly that Donghyuck doesn’t have time to figure out what’s causing it. Quietly, almost too quietly to hear—although, at this point, Donghyuck wonders whether he’ll ever be able to forget the sound of Mark’s voice—Mark says, “No. It’s not, Hyuck.”

A shiver crawls up Donghyuck’s spine.

 _Damn you_ , he thinks. 

“You don’t have to be nice all the time, you know?” Donghyuck says finally, exasperated. “I’m not gonna beat your ass if you’re honest—”

The hand, simultaneously familiar and foreign, shuts him up. It’s the same hand that clasped his waist in the bathroom. The same hand that has punched him during their fights. The same hand that, only hours ago, gripped his hair as sweet, now-forgotten, nothings were whispered into Donghyuck's his ear. It's Mark’s left hand: calloused and covered in small white scars. His index finger is a little crooked; his nails are long and unbitten. His skin is rough but his touch is gentle, reverent. 

Mark rests his hand on Donghyuck's thigh. _High_ up on his thigh. 

He squeezes and Donghyuck can’t hold back a shudder. 

“I’m always honest,” Mark says, “with you.” 

_I wish you weren’t. I wish you hadn’t been on the lake. Fuck you for that, Mark Lee._

“Why are you here?” Donghyuck asks finally. He’s relieved when his voice is steady—mostly steady. It almost sounds normal. 

“I have something for you.”

Donghyuck’s heart skips a beat. He schools his face into a neutral expression, even though he’s still not looking at Mark. “You don’t have to do that,” Donghyuck says. He lets out a little chuckle, trying to sound like he doesn’t care because he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t, but Mark took care of him in the grotto. Mark promised him he wouldn’t be expelled. Mark let him sleep in his bed and Mark is so kind sometimes that it hurts. “I don’t have anything for you.” 

Mark releases his grip on Donghyuck’s thigh. 

Donghyuck bites down on his tongue to stop himself from whining—fuck, what’s _wrong_ with him? Why is he being like this? He hates this. He hates it so, so much. 

Then, Mark clasps his hand and all thoughts promptly dissipate. The Bond pulses, white-hot, and Donghyuck has to stifle a small whimper when Mark starts unfurling his fingers. (Donghyuck realizes just now that he’s been clenching his hands into fists this entire time.) Wherever Mark touches, Donghyuck’s skin tingles. Something hot and feverish pools in the pit of his stomach. He wants to shove Mark away and tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t, and Mark continues his careful administrations until Donghyuck’s hands are open and relaxed, cupped upwards like in prayer.

“I thought you should have this,” Mark says quietly.

Something drops onto Donghyuck’s palm. Nothing in the world can stop the tiny gasp that leaves Donghyuck's lips. It’s his knife, the knife Renjun smuggled to him, the knife he hurled at Mark's head. The blade is encrusted with dirt, and the handle is wet, but holding it feels like holding onto a glimpse of the victory he felt when he won the tournament. 

“I thought…I thought you…” 

_Dropped it? Lost it? I don’t know, Lee._

“You won with this." There’s a small inflection in Mark's voice, but Donghyuck’s mind is spinning and he—he can’t quite make out what it is. “I didn’t want you to lose it.”

“You’re so—” Donghyuck realizes what he's about to say and clamps his mouth shut, cheeks warming. “—uh. I mean. T-Thanks.” 

Mark sounds amused. “Impossible?”

“No," he says quietly, "not this time.”

Mark lets go of his hand and Donghyuck exhales softly. The sound is hidden in the rumble of the engines. 

Donghyuck watches as the flaps on the wings start extending outward. He digs his free hand into his armrests, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white. For a moment, he wishes Mark would reach out again and touch Donghyuck again, but he locks up that thought in the recesses of his mind. 

“Donghyuck?” 

“Yeah?”

Mark’s words are almost lost as the plane starts dismounting, but Donghyuck catches them, anyway.

“Are you afraid?” Mark asks, sounding strangely uncertain. 

The wheels hit the tarmac. 

Donghyuck lets go of the armrest and thinks about lying. It’s so easy for him to lie. Easier than breathing. Easier than being brave.

“A little.” 

§§•§§

Once they land, General Kwon gives them a short speech about doing well and leaves for her office. Donghyuck hears her mention something about an attack in China, but he doesn’t want to ask her—he’ll probably hear about it sooner rather than later. Word gets around fast in Ludus, apparently. Pilot Kim bows briefly before running off in her direction—his helmet is still on so Donghyuck can’t see his face—but Jaehyun takes the time to hug the both of them. Donghyuck stiffens in his embrace and Jaehyun must feel it because he pulls apart quickly before slapping him on the shoulder.

“Good luck, Donghyuck-ssi.” 

Jaehyun winks and then he’s off, too. 

Mark grunts.

Donghyuck eyes him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mark mumbles but he looks disgruntled. 

The fool’s back to carrying all of his bags, although this time he doesn’t ask Donghyuck for any help. At least his luggage obscures most of his face. All Donghyuck can really see is the top of Mark’s head. His hair is sticking out in all directions, almost like a compass, and Donghyuck almost laughs. Then again, it’s not like he looks any better. Or smells any better, for that matter. 

Mark doesn’t seem to mind, though. His shoulders brush Donghyuck’s as he leads Donghyuck toward the Fliers Barracks. Donghyuck wants to move away, but then Mark would ask why and it’s not like he has a reasonable answer for that. Mark’s seen him _naked_ —Donghyuck’s cheeks heat up—and his mind wasn’t even obscured by a rut or anything. Simple, fleeting touches shouldn’t matter after that, but they do. God, they do. 

“My room’s a little messy,” Mark admits once they’re inside the Barracks. He’s fidgeting and the bags are teetering. “I didn’t know all of this would happen, so I haven’t had a chance to, uh, clean up.”

Donghyuck shrugs. “’ S fine.”

“Really?” Mark asks.

Donghyuck nods. It can’t be that bad.

When Mark opens the door—he murmurs the key code in Donghyuck’s ear and says it’s his mother’s birthday—Donghyuck realizes he is horrifically, catastrophically _wrong_. 

Mark’s apartment is spacious—by military standards, at least—but it doesn’t feel that way because every spare inch of the room is covered in _something_. There are piles of laundry by the door and on top of the brown leather sofa. Donghyuck even spots one of Mark’s boxers sitting on top of the kitchen island. He picks it up at the same time that Mark dumps all of his bags onto the floor. 

“Really, Lee?” 

It’s almost impressive how quickly Mark manages to wrestle his underwear away from Donghyuck’s hands. His cheeks are flaming red, and this time, Donghyuck does laugh, loudly and heartily, although he knows Mark’s terrible living standards are going to make him want to plot murder eventually. 

He already misses Bunk C4 with an ache so deep that it might be intrinsic. He misses the potted plants, the patterned carpets, and the multicolored fairy-lights. He misses the paintings that hang on the walls and he misses the vanilla-and-gardenia perfume that Heejin sprays whenever she thinks the room smells too dusty or something. He even misses his bunk-bed, because despite being rickety and old, it’s reassuring to sleep underneath Jeno. He’ll probably even miss Jeno’s snoring— _fuck_. 

Still, regardless of his longing, Donghyuck doesn’t stop laughing. He’s almost about to cry with mirth when Mark clamps a hand on his mouth. 

Mark looks mortified. “I don’t usually—it’s not like—I swear, I—”

Donghyuck licks Mark’s palm, getting a kick at the way Mark immediately lets him go. Mark’s face can’t be even redder. Smacking his lips, Donghyuck decides to test out a hunch. Slyly, he says, “ _Jaehyun_ doesn’t look like he lives like this.”

Mark stiffens. “He’s worse,” he says but the way his shoulders hunch makes him look like a sulking cat. “You wouldn’t want to live with him. Really.” 

“Sorry, Lee, but I need concrete evidence.” Donghyuck crosses his arms. “What’s his room number?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

Mark glowers. His pride must really be stinging and Donghyuck almost feels bad. He probably shouldn’t be making fun of Mark after everything Mark did, but it’s hard not to when he’s reacting like _this_. And…and Donghyuck’s just an asshole sometimes, alright? He doesn’t need any other reason to want to tease Mark. (There is _no_ other reason.) 

A muscle in Mark’s jaw jumps. “Take a shower,” he says finally. “I’ll clean up by the time you’re done.”

Donghyuck snickers. “Make sure you look inside the oven. Don’t wanna find any briefs in there when I’m baking.”

He expects Mark to glower some more or—maybe if he’s lucky—to stomp his feet. That would be hilarious and great fodder for…for whenever he has to take Mark down a peg. (He’s already starting to suspect that it’ll be many, many times.)

Mark takes him by surprise, though. 

Mark’s not the tallest Alpha Donghyuck’s come across, but his strides are long and he manages to corner Donghyuck into the wall fairly easily. It reminds Donghyuck of the time Mark kissed him, ravenous and desperate and with enough tongue to make his toes tingle. The ghost of that memory paralyzes Donghyuck briefly and Mark uses it to his advantage. He splays his hand on Donghyuck’s chest, right on top of his Bond Mark, and leans forward. 

_Is he…Is he going to…_

Donghyuck's hands turn clammy. 

Mark’s lips graze Donghyuck’s cheek as he carefully moves toward the patch of skin directly underneath Donghyuck’s ear. He doesn’t kiss him, though. Of course, he doesn’t—he doesn’t want to. He’s made that clear. All Mark does is inhale, deeply and only once, before he draws back. 

“W-What the hell, Lee?” 

“You smell like me,” Mark says simply. 

“I—I— _obviously_ —”

Mark cocks an eyebrow. His face is still marred with bruises from...from whatever mission he went on. Donghyuck doesn't know much about it, except that it ended in his Captain's death. He remembers the memorial. He remembers Mark walking out and he remembers wondering, briefly, if he should follow him. But he didn't, and Mark's face is still healing, and he is still so unfairly handsome. He's not handsome in the way that Jung Jaehyin is with his unblemished, milky skin and his princely features. Mark Lee is handsome in the way that took Donghyuck by surprise the night they met—in the way that reminds him of all the good parts of Jeju. 

_Fucking bastard._ _I'm so sick of your face. Turn ugly or something, Christ._

"Do you want to smell like me?" Mark asks, eyebrow still raised. "I was under the impression that you wouldn't want to. That's why I suggested the shower." 

Donghyuck crosses his arms, irritated. " _You_ take a shower since I know you smell like me, too."

"Then you'll be the one picking up my underwear," Mark points out, and what the fuck, are his eyes twinkling? Is this funny to him? "You sure you wanna do that, Hyuckie?"

"Do _not_ call me that." Donghyuck uncrosses his arms to jab a finger in Mark's direction. 

"Hyuck-ah, then."

" _Fuck_ you, Lee."

Mark looks at him innocently. "I mean... you have, already." He sweeps his hands around him. "It's kind of why...we're here."

Donghyuck counts to fifty in his head. He catches Mark stifling a grin and that pisses him off enough that he has to start over. By the time he's done, Mark is leaning his shoulder against the wall, looking endlessly entertained. 

This time, it's Donghyuck who pushes forward, until the tips of their noses are almost touching. He refuses to be bested. Not in the training room, not in the tournament, and certainly not in Mark Lee's apartment. He doesn't know what he's doing but he trails his index finger down Mark's chest, enjoying the way Mark's breathing catches a little. He may not be the...most conventionally pretty Omega out there, but he's watched a lot of movies and he's seen the way his sister moves when she wants to attract her crush's attention.

And besides... Mark... Mark didn't seem like he minded Donghyuck forwardness in the cave. 

"Jaehyun's really, _really_ handsome," Donghyuck says. "He's really big, too. He looks like he could pick me up without any problem." Donghyuck doesn't give a shit about that, really, but he figures it's a source of pride for Alphas so he strikes there. "I wouldn't mind taking a shower in his apartment—"

"Donghyuck," Mark says, voice low, eyes narrowed. He reaches out to grab Donghyuck's wrist and holds it. "You're playing with fire." 

"I _am_ fire," Donghyuck replies, breathing the words directly into Mark's ear the way the bastard did to him, "and I'll burn you before you ever burn me, Mark Lee." He wrenches his wrist away from Mark's grip and ignores the twinge in his chest as he does so. "You can't win against me," he continues, rubbing his chafing skin. "Don't bother trying."

Mark might have sweet words, but his touches aren't necessarily gentle—but then again, Donghyuck doesn't need them to be. They're both soldiers, after all. 

Mark's eyes are still alight, though now it's with a fervor so intense it almost, almost makes Donghyuck retract his earlier words. _Lightning in a bottle_. Except, right now, the sparks in Mark's irises are alight and free of any cage. He looks delighted. He's practically beaming. "But I _have_ won," he says, and his words feel like a battle cry and a ballad all at the same time. "And there's nothing in the world that would make stop trying. You know that, don't you, _Hyuckie_?" 

Donghyuck shoves his chest and Mark stumbles backward but doesn't fall. He wraps his hand around Donghyuck's wrist and when Donghyuck tries to pull back, he's met with resistance. Mark is outright laughing at this point, and it takes all Donghyuck has not to join him. He aims a kick at Mark's shin, and this time he's successful, and this time Mark is falling, except he's taking Donghyuck with him. 

And suddenly, before Donghyuck can stop himself, he's laughing, too. It feels like forever since he's laughed and maybe that's why he sounds the tiniest bit hysterical. He should stop. He doesn't because he and Mark are entangled in a messy ball on the floor, limbs askew and hands entangled. Because he can smell Mark's scent and it still works wonders. Because Mark is laughing, too. Guffawing, actually.

Donghyuck can't help it. He starts laughing, too, until his throat turns sore. He sinks back into Mark's arms and Mark lets him. The apartment is messy and he still needs to shower. He still doesn't know where he stands with Mark or Mark with him, and he still doesn't know what to do with the irritating, persistent feelings clawing their way through the Bond, but—

For now, for now, he doesn't mind this. 

§§•§§

Donghyuck wraps a towel around his head. He doesn't have a change of clothes. He didn't want to run into Junghwa, so he didn't bother going back to camp, and he doesn't want to go back to Bunk C4 to grab the rest of his stuff when the others aren't there. So, he's back to borrowing Mark's clothes, which is embarrassing but not enough that it stops Donghyuck from wearing one of Mark's grey sweaters and a black beanie. The beanie's clearly loved by Mark because it's fuzzy and is a little bit worn down. 

He leaves the bathroom and enters the living room. 

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Mark really _has_ cleaned up. Donghyuck can see the floor, and although it should be vacuumed for good measure, there aren't any suspicious stains on the carpet. The sofa has been cleared of miscellaneous items as well and it doesn't look that bad now that's empty. It looks pretty comfy, actually, and the color isn't too bad in hindsight. It's not nearly as cute as Bunk C4 but his friends have an unusual knack for interior design, so Donghyuck decides not to blame Mark too much. 

Donghyuck sniffs. 

Is that...lemon spray? And...pine? 

He shakes his head and mutters to himself, "I guess miracles can happen."

"I heard that," Mark says. He comes in through the front door—Donghyuck hadn't heard him unlock the door, but whatever. "And I resent how surprised you sound." 

"You brought takeout?" Donghyuck asks, eyeing the bags Mark's carrying. "I didn't know we could do that."

"It's not real takeout." Mark sets the paper bags on the coffee table. "The chefs are just nice to the Fliers and let us eat at home. They're especially nice now that they don't have to deal with the Trainees."

"I resent that," Donghyuck says, imitating Mark.

Mark smiles softly in his direction. He flops down on the sofa and starts pulling out cartons of food. "I didn't know what you liked so I got everything," he admits. "Anything you don't like, I'll eat, and the rest we can put in the fridge."

Donghyuck sits down on the far edge of the sofa. He tests Mark's reaction, but when Mark merely continues organizing their dinner, he brings his feet onto the sofa and curls up. It's nice to do this. It's nice to have a sofa and it's nice not to have to eat at the Mess Hall. Mark's not the _worst_ company Donghyuck's had, either.

"I'm not a picky eater," Donghyuck says. "You don't have to worry about that."

"But what's your favorite?" Mark asks, fishing out the spoons and forks and napkins.

"I told you. I don't have favorites."

Mark scoffs. "Everyone has a favorite." 

Donghyuck shrugs. "Seafood, then."

"Nice," Mark says in English, grinning again. How does he smile so easily? Especially after everything that happened? "I got paella and sushi, but there's also, like, this fried fish you might like? Fried catfish, I think? It's Filipino style, so they cooked it in coconut milk, and I think they even gave me extra packets of soy sauce, so..."

"Mark," Donghyuck says, rolling his eyes. "I can't eat all of that."

"I _can_ ," Mark says smugly.

"Are you turning this into a fucking competition?" Donghyuck asks.

Mark looks at him; his gaze is more shrewd than Donghyuck likes. "Isn't it always, with you?"

Donghyuck looks away, though he's not actually annoyed. Mark's learning him. Knowing that makes him feel odd. 

He rolls the sleeves of Mark's oversized sweater up to his elbow. "If you can't keep up and you throw up, I'm literally going to kick your ass, Mark Lee."

"I wouldn't expect anything else, Lee Donghyuck."

And so, the race begins. 

§§•§§

Donghyuck tucks his head into his arms and closes his eyes. The entire apartment still smells artificial, and his stomach is painfully full, but the night is dark and the sofa is soft and his knife is tucked in his pocket. For the first time in a very long time, he doesn't feel any ghosts in the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned out v domestic and soft, but please do not be fooled! mark will be annoying, eventually, and once the first arc of the chapter is over this will be a rollercoaster from start to finish. until then, please enjoy domestic mh (well, before they both get sick and tired of each other lol) 
> 
> as always, kudos + comments are my life force & i appreciate every and each one!!! 
> 
> as always x2:
> 
> twitter: crashbang12  
> cc: crashbang12


	13. ii.ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's official: i rlly don't know how to write anymore
> 
> (also both boys are dumb and say/do dumb things in this but pls bear with them ;-; )

Mark's shitty, secondhand curtains can't obscure dawn's dim glow. His even shittier duvet can't protect him from the chill in the air, either. 

Yawning, he rubs his eyes and gets up to close the window. When they aren't training or going out on missions, Mark's seniors like to sit on their balconies, drink, and trade scandalous stories with each other. (He guesses they have a hard time sleeping, too.) Baekhyun never joins them—he saves most of his gossip for group dinners—but before Captain Kim died, he used to get into opera matches with another Flier Captain, Lee Jinki, back when Jinki was his next-door neighbor. For the past two weeks, Mark has fallen asleep with the window open, waiting for his hyung’s voice to ring in the crisp winter air. 

The thought makes him grip the window sill for a moment. He looks out. The morning is foggy, wispy, and wet. The sun is hiding; the clouds are not. A pallid grayness encompasses Ludus, turning the concrete walls of the Barracks an even duller color. Icicles hang off of the metal balconies, and while they look pretty from a distance—shining like dangly jewelry—it means the rest of Ludus is probably frozen over. 

Mark sighs and lets go. The curtains fall, and he turns his back on the rest of Ludus. 

§§•§§

Sockless, he plods quietly into the living room.

He doesn’t like his apartment. He moved in eleven months and twenty-two days ago, the day after his brother died, and for all of the hours he’s spent here, staring at the ceiling in his bedroom or drinking cheap instant coffee in the kitchen, it has never felt like home. It smells too much like him and not enough like anyone he cares about. It doesn’t look like a home, either.Homes have photographs and semi-permanent stains and comfortable clutter. Mark's apartment has none of these things. His walls are bare because he’s bad at hanging up pictures without the frames turning crooked and his furniture is covered in dust because he's bad at dusting. He’s bad at a lot of things—painting, putting in shelves, even _vacuuming_ —and so, over time, he stopped trying. It was too much hassle for too little payoff and he started to prefer sleeping in one of the training rooms, anyway. 

Now that he’s sharing his apartment, though, he feels embarrassed at his lack of effort. He expects Donghyuck to bring it up, but for now, Donghyuck still asleep on Mark’s couch. 

Smiling, Mark lets his eyes roam over Donghyuck. _At least,_ Mark thinks, _he doesn’t look scared anymore._ He’s not curling into himself like he did in Mark’s tent. He’s loose-limbed now; his arms are spread across the arms of the sofa and one of his legs is sprawled on the top of the sofa. His blankets have fallen to the floor; his shirt has ridden up to his abdomen, revealing a stretch of golden-brown skin that makes Mark’s heart pound faster than normal and his sheathed dagger is teetering dangerously on the edge of the cushion. 

Carefully, Mark tucks the blankets underneath Donghyuck’s chin, laughing quietly when the boy instinctually nestles into them. There’s a bit of dried drool on his chin, and it’s kind of gross, so Mark takes a chance and rubs it off of his chin. Donghyuck breathes loudly, and for a second, Mark thinks he’s about to wake up. He doesn’t, and Mark sighs in relief. 

He places Donghyuck’s dagger back underneath his pillow before he does actually awaken and heads to the kitchen to make himself a quick cup of coffee.

The kitchen is exactly as he left it last night. His stack of cooking magazines that he never uses is still on the counter. His trashcan is still overflowing with used paper plates and cups from dinner. His fridge still smells like fried fish, which is not very appealing early in the morning, but Mark was too tired to be bothered about it last night. Everything is exactly the same except for the men sitting at his cheap, plastic kitchen table, sipping on orange-blossom tea and dawdling around like a pair of lazy cats. 

“Morning, kid.” 

Mark stares. “You broke into my house?”

“Technically, it’s an apartment.”

Doyoung clucks his tongue and says smoothly, “He means to say that he has a key, Mark.”

“Um.” Mark looks at Baekhyun and then at the doctor and then back at Baekhyun. _He stole my spare,_ he wants to tell Doyoung, but a more pressing question hounds him. “Baekhyun hyung does stuff like this all the time, but why’re you here, Doyoung?”

Dr. Kim bristles. “I’m your hyung, too.”

Mark tries to apologize but Baekhyun waves his hand carelessly in the air and interrupts him before he can get very far. “Enough with semantics,” he says, raising a brow and looking at Mark like he’s a particularly interesting problem to solve. “What the _fuck_ happened in Half-n-Half, kid, huh?”

Mark glances over his shoulder. “Lower your voice, please. I don’t wanna wake him.”

“The last time I saw you, you were in the Phoenix, drunk out of your mind and bristling about the fact that your Mate was leaving with another Alpha. The same Alpha that, according to you, he kissed while he was injured.” Baekhyun’s voice flattens. “Now he’s on your sofa and you’re worried about _waking him up_.”

Mark feels an oncoming migraine. He presses his fingers against his temple and sits down in the only available chair. Unfortunately, it happens to but the one directly between Doyoung and Baekhyun and it leaves him feeling like a fly caught between two spiderwebs. 

“It’s complicated,” Mark offers weakly.

Doyoung pushes a cup of tea at him. It’s a proper cup, porcelain and not plastic, which means he brought it over from his own place. “Diseases are complicated,” he says, some of his irritation simmering into resignation, “and I’ve dealt with plenty. Drink up and explain, Mark Lee, beforeeither of us loses our minds.”

Mark looks at his tea and wishes it was coffee. Then, with nothing else to do except and nowhere else to go, he tells the truth. It takes a long time to tell. He rambles and delineates certain points for far longer than he should but neither of his hyungs interrupts him. By the time he’s done, his voice is sore and the intense, compact pressure in his chest has lightened to a load that’s easier to handle. 

Doyoung nods, more to himself than to Mark, and examines him. His eyes are not unkind. “It’s not unheard of for Omegas to forget to take taldroexin, though I’ll admit it’s certainly very irresponsible. I’ve left a bottle in your rightmost cabinet for Lee Donghyuck. Please tell him to start taking it as soon as possible.”

“I will."

“I also want him to visit me.” Doyoung stands up. “You still remember where I’m staying, yes?”

“Yeah, but…” Mark’s brow furrows. “What about the Infirmary?”

Doyoung slides his chair until it’s flush against the table. He’s not wearing his lab coat so he must not have checked into the Infirmary yet. “There are too many eyes there,” replies Doyoung. “Too many ears.” 

“But…”

“Bring the cups with you. And please wash them. I don’t want to find any disgusting dried leafy bits on the bottom.”

“Hyung,” Mark says, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“When tea leaves dry, Mark, they—”

“ _Hyung_.”

Baekhyun clears his throat. “Semantics,” he says lightly.

Mark wants to tell him that this is absolutely not about semantics whatsoever—he doesn’t know what the hell Doyoung is even talking about—but the doctor is buttoning his light windbreaker and heading out the door. Then, it’s just Mark and Baekhyun, who crosses both his legs and his arms and looks at Mark like he’s turned an entirely different color. 

An uncomfortable feeling twists in Mark’s stomach. Baekhyun almost looks _disappointed_. 

“Hyung, I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I wasn’t expecting anything to happen and—”

Baekhyun holds up his hand and Mark shuts up. “Would you do it again? Be honest.” 

Mark thinks about the way Donghyuck hid in the middle of the woods in the middle of his heat. He thinks about the way Donghyuck’s voice cracked when he told Mark he thought someone was going to hurt him and he thinks about the way Donghyuck held onto him in the water. Like he was afraid Mark was going to leave him. 

Bowing his head, Mark whispers, "Yes." 

“Then you’re not sorry.” Mark flinches and Baekhyun sighs. “Listen, I’m not mad at you, alright? I’m guessing you did what you had to do to protect your Omega.” Baekhyun tilts his head and says, “My only concern is…are you ready for him to be your partner, Mark?” 

“I don't know,” Mark says, throat dry, words like sandpaper. “I don’t think I can…lose someone again.”

Baekhyun’s face softens. For a second, Mark thinks he’s going to reach out and hug him. Instead, gently, Baekhyun says, “You can’t change this, Mark. This is the bed you have to sleep in now.”

The worry in Mark’s gut returns. It feels like a tangled coil of wires. “I _can’t_. If he gets hurt—”

“If who gets hurt?” 

Mark shoots to his feet and his chair crashes into the ground. 

He should have felt Donghyuck approach through their Bond but it’s as if his Bond has coalesced with Mark’s. It _almost_ feels like a single, invisible thread connecting the two of them instead of two distinct threads tied together. 

“You’re awake,” Mark says dumbly. 

Donghyuck looks annoyed. “No shit, detective. You were talking about me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Mark says. 

At the same time, Baekhyun replies, “Yup.”

Mark glares. _Traitor._

Baekhyun shrugs, drawing back to his seat now that Mark’s not in immediate danger of falling apart. “Hello, Donghyuck- _ssi_ , would you like to join us for breakfast?” 

Donghyuck’s bravado falters a bit when he finally spots Baekhyun. His eyes widen and he looks a little bit star-stuck. Mark swallows his jealousy. Baekhyun hyung is famous, after all. He belongs to the second-wave of Fliers, the ones the military started sending out to greet the public, to inspire the people and give them hope. Everyone in the country knows who he is. 

“Sure,” Donghyuck says weakly. He falters before he realizes what he’s doing and promptly juts out his chin. “Um, I mean—yeah, of course.”

Baekhyun grins. “Scoot over, Mark. I want to sit next to _him_.” 

§§•§§

Mark presses his head into his hands and groans. Why is this happening to him? He’s a good person. He is. He doesn’t hog the laundry machines in the building, he always makes sure to send _thank you_ cards to the cooks during Christmas, and he has never, ever worn socks with sandals. (Okay, he has, but only like two times—three _at the most_ —so why is he being forced to suffer this utter humiliation—)

“… and so Mark thought he was doing CPR on a real woman but it was really just a robotic dummy—”

Mark doesn’t raise his head. “It _looked_ real.”

“—and when he couldn’t resuscitate her he started _crying_ ,” Baekhyun finishes gleefully. “I’m pretty sure I have a picture saved on the Cloud.”

Mark sighs. “I hacked into your account and deleted it.” 

As punishment, Baekhyun takes Mark’s cup and swallows all of his remaining tea. Mark can’t find any energy to steal back his tea. Baekhyun is sitting in between Mark and Donghyuck and for the last eight-four minutes—Mark has been keeping count—he’s been recounting every embarrassing incident Mark has gone through since arriving at Ludus to Donghyuck in excruciating detail. 

Of course, Mark knows _why_ Baekhyun is doing all of this. Hell, Baekhyun did the same thing for him when Mark was just a fresh-faced, doe-eyed rookie and everything about Ludus had been fifty shades of terrifying. It's just...

_Why me, though? He hasn’t even mentioned the others yet._

There are plenty of embarrassing stories that have nothing to do with Mark. What about the time Lee Taemin took his Navi for a joyride and crashed into General Kwon’s office? What about the time Baekhyun hyung (illegally) connected his phone to one of the computers in the Briefing Room at the exact same time that one of his one-night stands sent an unsolicited nude? (Wait, actually, that wasn’t embarrassing so much as it was completely traumatizing—for Mark, at least.) Hell, even Jungeun’s had her fair share of mortifying moments. It’s not only Mark, so why is _Mark’s_ dark history being exposed? 

Just as Mark is about to go off into another mental rabbit-hole about his terrible luck—and his even more terrible (okay, mostly wonderful) hyung—he feels Donghyuck’s gaze burning on him. 

“Crying when you thought you couldn’t save her,” Donghyuck mumbles. “You really do have a hero complex, don’t you, Lee?”

“Mark.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever, _Mark_ ,” Mark says without thinking. 

Irritation flares through their Bond but thankfully, it’s not nearly as acrid as Donghyuck’s typical rage. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Donghyuck says impatiently. “Have you always been so…” 

Baekhyun answers for Mark, his voice fond. “Yes, Donghyuck- _ssi_ , Mark’s always been a bit of a brave idiot.”

“Hyung,” Mark says, affronted, “how many times are you gonna embarrass me this morning, seriously?” 

“As many times as I want to, kid.” 

Donghyuck laughs at this: a true laugh, hard-earned and hard-won.Mark can’t even feel offended, because the laugh erases the tension in Donghyuck’s jaw and chin. He looks soft again…and almost, almost sweet. Mark’s heart thumps again and he ducks his head a little so that Baekhyun hyung can’t see the slight flush crawling up his cheeks. Jesus, that smile. Rationally, Mark knows it doesn’t—or, well, it shouldn’t—look any different from other smiles—lips are just lips after all—but he has never wanted to paint another smile before. He doesn’t even care that he’s bad at painting. He wants to plaster pictures of Donghyuck all over his walls. 

“He doesn’t need you to embarrass him,” Donghyuck says. “He does it just fine himself.” 

Wait, maybe Mark can feel offended.He makes a face and says, “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side.” 

Donghyuck raises a brow. “Why the hell should I be, Mark Lee?” 

There’s a hint of challenge in Donghyuck’s voice and, like always, it awakens something inside of Mark. But when he finally looks up, finally making eye-contact with Donghyuck, that feeling transforms into something… gentler. Donghyuck’s face is puffy and there’s a drop of coffee near his Cupid’s brow that Mark itches to wipe away. His clothes are rumpled and he hasn’t fixed his hair. He doesn’t look like a golden warrior or like he belongs in a timeless ballad—he looks painfully human. Painfully soft. Painfully breakable. 

Donghyuck tilts his head. “Well?” 

“You’re my Omega.” Mark’s words are as thick as winter wood sap. They don’t sound right in his mouth, as if he is supposed to keep then locked up inside of himself, but he doesn’t care. He says them, anyway, his heart doing a gymnastics routine in his chest. “Just…be on my side.” 

_Make this easy for me. Don’t fight me during our training, and for the love of God, don’t get hurt in front of me, Lee Donghyuck. Don’t fall just to prove that you can fly—please._

Mark means to say all of this out loud but the Bond distracts him. It doesn’t scorch his skin. It doesn’t even warm up. It grows thicker—like a rope intertwining around another rope—and Donghyuck must feel it, too. Donghyuck’s mouth becomes the shape of an ‘O’. He holds his hands to his chest, almost as if he’s trying to check his heartbeat. 

Then, like a dam breaking, Donghyuck’s surprise courses through Mark.

Mark stiffens. Years of brutal training keep his ass glued to his seat and his eyes glued on Donghyuck. Usually, he only ever feels Donghyuck’s emotions like this when Donghyuck is distressed—when, unconsciously, perhaps involuntarily, Donghyuck tugs on the Bond, calling on the person on the other end of the line (Mark). 

This is the first time Mark has felt such…such an innocuous feeling. It leaves him disoriented. He grips the table because he needs something to hold onto. 

“Donghyuck—”

“Mark—”

“Are you—”

“No, I—I—”

Baekhyun hums. “Your Bond is getting stronger, isn’t it?” 

Mark opens his mouth, but Donghyuck beats him to an answer.

“Why?” Donghyuck asks.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Beats me.” 

“Hyung,” Mark says, feeling the dam being built up again, stone-by-stone, as if Donghyuck is purposely trying to block him out, “can’t we do something about it?” 

Baekhyun hesitates. “You’re co-Fliers,” Baekhyun finally explains. “The more connected you are, the easier it’ll be for you to navigate the Drift together. Theoretically.” 

Donghyuck frowns but doesn’t protest. He looks resigned—and God, if that isn’t a terrifying sight, Mark doesn’t know what is. 

Mark can’t share his resignation. Fear floods him, brought on by Baekhyun’s grim reminder. The Drift is real and it is waiting and Mark does not want to go inside of it. He doesn’t know what he’ll see. He doesn’t know what _Donghyuck_ will see and that’s even more frightening. 

Mark’s eyes flicker to Baekhyun and then to Donghyuck. “Hyung, when are we…going to…”

“General Kwon is still assigning your schedule,” Baekhyun replies, understanding immediately. “She has to coordinate with the Council and the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps about your training.” Mark must look confused, because Baekhyun says, “Usually, Ludus would just take care of it, but some the Flier-specific Trainers have resigned. Until the PPDC can send us one of their Assault Specialists, your training will primarily be pen-and-paper.”

“So we won’t get to see the Navis?” Donghyuck asks, disappointed. 

“Actually, you will.” Baekhyun fishes his fob out of his pocket. It’s old-fashioned—there are retinal scanners and the like all over Ludus—but Baekhyun always says his fob gets the job done. “I have permanent access to the old Conn-Pod, so—if Mark’s okay with it—I can take you to see your Navi before dinner.”

Mark frowns. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Donghyuck frowns back. “Of course it is.”

“What’s the point if we can’t even train?” 

“The point?” Donghyuck scoffs. “Are you out of your mind? I’m about to be a Flier, that’s the point!” 

“You won’t even be able to touch the Navi!” 

“I don’t need to touch it to _see_ it, Mark!” 

“I said _no_ ,” Mark says sharply, his nostrils flaring. “We’re _not_ going.” 

The dam that broke before breaks again but this time Mark has a strong feeling Donghyuck is doing it on purpose. Donghyuck’s fury hits Mark like an avalanche. He gasps out loud at the feeling, but before he can ask Donghyuck to stop, please, _don’t do this_ , Donghyuck is jumping to his feet, whirling around, and thundering out of the kitchen. Mark hears a door crash and—almost as if he’s experiencing this himself—he feels Donghyuck racing the down the stairs of their apartment complex and out of the Fliers’ Barracks altogether and then—

No, he can’t just leave—can he—

“Minhyung.” 

Mark blinks, and suddenly, he realizes he’s standing and that he is facing the direction of the door. His hands are curled into fists, but he doesn’t feel angry, anymore. He feels _sick._ His hands are sweaty and there’s an awful taste underneath his tongue. His knees buckle and he collapses back on his chair, wondering if Donghyuck will stay angry with him for the rest of the day, or the rest of the week, or more. 

Will he come back?

“He will,” Baekhyun says and it’s only then that Mark realizes that he said that out loud. “He wants this more than you do. From the look of it, you don’t want this at all.”

Baekhyun’s not scolding him but his disapproval is clear.

Mark winces. “No.”

A long silence falls on them and then Baekhyun shakes his head.“Remember what I said. You can’t undo your decisions. You have to sleep in the bed you made.”

“There are ghosts in my bed, hyung.” 

Baekhyun tousles his hair. “There are probably some in his.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts.” Baekhyun gets up and claps Mark’s shoulder. “Cheer up, kid. Mates fight all the time. This won’t be the end, so make yourself some more coffee and wait it out. He’ll be back before nightfall.” 

§§•§§

Hyung is wrong. 

As soon as the sun sets, Mark sits on the sofa until his eyelids grow heavy and his limbs grow numb and he physically can’t say awake any longer. When he wakes up, it’s almost four in the morning and the door to his apartment is still closed and Donghyuck’s slippers are still gone and Mark is still alone. 

§§•§§

The days pass in a blur of waiting and worrying. 

Mark isn’t sure whether to look or not, but the Bond is calm and all of the forums he scours looking for advice tell him that it’s best to let his Mate have safe. 

So.

Space. 

Funnily enough, it feels like Mark’s apartment is also a lot bigger and emptier and colder than it used to. He turns the thermostat up but it doesn’t change anything. He tries using extra quilts when he sleeps, but his bed is still icy and filled with unwanted dreams.

In the end, he retreats back to the sofa, finds Donghyuck’s dagger, and holds it while he tries to fall asleep. 

§§•§§

On the fourth day, exactly ten minutes before dawn, the door creaks open. Mark blinks the sleep out of his eyes and watches as two figures stumble into his apartment. The first one he recognizes immediately. How could he not? Even when he’s surrounded by shadows, Jung Jaehyun is an imposing figure. 

Immediately, Mark is up on his feet, striding toward the door and flicking on the light-switch. 

Donghyuck groans at the onslaught of light.

He’s leaning against Jaehyun—no, practically lying on top of him. His head is tilted against Jaehyun’s shoulder and the fine line of his neck is bared. For a second, he stumbles and Mark lunges forward, but before his fingertips can even skim Donghyuck’s shirt—it’s not the shirt he was wearing before, Mark distantly registers—Jaehyun is curling his arm around Donghyuck’s waist and pulling him up. 

“Christ, Mark,” Jaehyun says, offering Mark a slightly apologetic smile. “Your Omega’s really heavy.”

“Shuddup,” Donghyuck slurs, whacking Jaehyun’s shoulder. “‘M not. ‘M _built_ —”

“I can take him from you,” Mark says too quickly. His chest feels tight. Too tight. “Thanks, Jaehyun.”

Before Jaehyun can even speak, Donghyuck’s eyes find Mark and pin him where he is. 

Donghyuck’s eyes are glassy and wet from alcohol. His irises look like the iridescent surface of polished terra-cotta. “You sure?” Donghyuck says. He’s slurring, but his words are loud and they’re mean, angry, so angry that Mark almost says sorry on principle. “I don’ think thas a g-good idea.” 

“Hyuck,” Mark says quietly. “Please.”

That only seems to make Donghyuck angrier. 

Eyes narrowing, he shoves off Jaehyun’s grip and lunges forward, almost as if he’s trying to spar with Mark again. But he’s drunk—so very, very drunk—and he’s not wearing any shoes—Mark only notices that now—and the floors are hardwood. For all of Donghyuck’s typical agility and grace, for all of his dexterity, for all of the ways in which he can seem to triumph against the forces of nature, tonight gravity wins. He falls, except Mark is there and Mark is sober and Mark can win against gravity. Mark grips Donghyuck’s hips and pulls him tight, pulls him close.

Donghyuck smells like cheap soju and nothing else. The stink is so strong that it overpowers his actual scent.

Mark doesn’t care. He rests his chin on Donghyuck’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes. 

Donghyuck is back. He’s really back and—at least for tonight—Mark doesn’t think he’ll let go. 

Of course, as soon as he thinks that, Donghyuck wrestles in Mark’s arms until Mark is forced to let him have some space. Until all that he can touch is the hem of Donghyuck’s T-shirt. 

“Why—why didn’t you…”

Mark distantly registers that his door closes shut, that a pair of heavy footsteps echo in the hallway. Jaehyun left, and he should feel happy about that, but all he can focus on—all he can ever focus on these days—is Lee Donghyuck. 

“You didn’t look for me,” Donghyuck accuses. “He said you would.” 

“Who?”

“You know.” Donghyuck yanks on Mark’s shirt. “You _know_.” 

Mark wraps his hand around Donghyuck’s wrists gently. “I don’t.”

“The doctor,” Donghyuck says, letting go of Mark and looking disappointed. “You know.” He makes a rabbit with his fist, index finger, and middle finger. “Looks like a rabbit.” 

The relief coursing through Mark makes him dizzy. “You were with Doyoung hyung?” 

“He said you’d look,” Donghyuck says again, ignoring Mark’s question. “You didn’t.” 

Mark pulls Donghyuck toward him and this time Donghyuck doesn’t resist. Their heads almost knock into each other at first, and Mark laughs a little at that, but Donghyuck just ducks his head underneath Mark’s chin. He’s too tall and Mark’s too short for him to fit well but Mark doesn’t care and neither does Donghyuck. They stay like that for a while—until Mark’s eyes finally adjust to the light and his mind clears a little. Until he can find the words he wants to say. 

“I wanted to,” Mark says softly, wanting Donghyuck to remember this in the morning but lacking hope, “but I thought you wanted space.”

Donghyuck shifts his head. His hair tickles the underside of Mark’s chin. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Donghyuck says a little more firmly. He sounds a little soberer, although he’s still not speaking clearly. “You—you never gave me space _before_.”

“Of course, I did.” 

“ _Liar_.”

“There was that time when…when...” Mark realizes, belatedly, that Donghyuck is right. “No, I…I guess I didn’t.”

“Told you.” 

Mark exhales. “Okay, yeah. You told me.”

“So why didn’t you…this time…”

“I don’t know,” Mark says honestly. “I guess…” He doesn’t want to say it but it’s almost dawn and Donghyuck is back in his arms and nothing is certain but Mark wants this. Whatever this is. “I guess…I wanted you to come back on your own.” 

_I wanted you to want to come back._

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything for so long that Mark thinks he’s fallen asleep. He’s about to check but then, with a voice as heavy and syrupy and soft as melted sugar, Donghyuck murmurs, “I hate drinking.” 

Mark isn't sure what to say, but Donghyuck rarely ever shares facts about himself, so Mark just listens to the lull of his voice. 

“I never drink, ever," Donghyuck continues. "Makes me weak, you know. Makes me like—like _this_.” He laughs. “But you…you didn’t look…for me, and… and I thought…maybe…” Donghyuck’s sigh is soft. “…You don’t want me?”

“Hyuck—”

“I’ll be a good partner, Mark,” Donghyuck whispers. It’s even softer than his sigh, so soft it could be nothing at all. “I’m strong. I can—I can do it.” 

“It’s not like that.”

Donghyuck sounds sad. Donghyuck smells sad, too. Mark can finally pick through the alcohol to find his scent. His scent is a thin thread—a whiff of all he is, all he can be, and Mark wishes he could cradle that thread in his hands. But Mark can’t do that, so he settles for pressing his palm on the back of Donghyuck’s neck and trying to pour his concern into their Bond. _I know you’re strong, but no matter how strong you are, I’ll always worry. You were only a Trainee before, but now you’re a Flier and Fliers get killed, Donghyuck. They die all the time and it’s never, ever pretty._

“What’s it like?” asks Donghyuck. 

Is his own sadness seeping through the Bond? Can Donghyuck sense it? Is that why he’s asking? Mark doesn’t know but he exhales softly. He’s exhausted and Donghyuck’s emotions are wearing him down like wind does to a mountain, like grief does to a person. He buried his mother, his brother, and his most beloved mentor. He can’t bear the thought of burying anyone else.

But he can't explain all of that either. Not here. Not now. 

“Let’s go to sleep, yeah?” Mark says instead. “We can talk in the morning.”

Donghyuck rubs his face in Mark’s chest. “I’ll be pissed in the morning.”

“It’s okay.” _You’ll forget it in the morning._ “I won’t let you go this time.”

§§•§§

When Mark wakes up, it’s almost four in the afternoon. 

Figures. 

He showers, changes his clothes, and heads into the living room. Donghyuck is lying face-down in the sofa, but he’s pounding his fists into a pillow, so Mark guesses he’s awake. Retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen—along with a cup of coffee and a bottle of painkillers—Mark sits down beside his rickety, three-legged coffee-table and plops all three of his procured items on Donghyuck’s back. Donghyuck yelps and thrashes forward—Mark catches the glass of water in time but the coffee spills all over the counter.

“What the fuck?” Donghyuck says.

_I could have planned that better,_ Mark thinks, but decides that he doesn't care.

He unfurls Donghyuck’s fingers and gives him the water and painkillers.  “It’ll help with the migraine.”

“What migraine?” Donghyuck mumbles but he tips his head back and swallows the pills dry.

Mark yawns. “I gave you the water for a reason, you know.”

Stubbornly, Donghyuck places the water on the table before sitting up properly. He bunches his knees together and curls his arms around his legs. He’s wearing the same T-shirt from last night—it has a weird medical joke on it, something about action potentials, which makes sense considering he stayed at Doyoung’s place, apparently—and a pair of baggy basketball shorts. 

“We need to find you a uniform,” Mark says. “Training starts in two days.”

That melts some of Donghyuck’s iciness. “Really?”

Mark nods.

“So…we'll be flying then?”

“No. Ludus complies with PPDC regulations and they want all of their Fliers to learn the ins-and-outs of how Navi’s work and stuff before they let us inside them.”

“You already know that stuff, though, right?”

Mark looks away. “Sort of. Can’t hurt to relearn, though.”

Donghyuck nods, stiffly, but doesn't say anything else. 

“I won’t let you cheat off of me,” Mark says, trying to lighten some of the awkwardness. 

It doesn’t work. Flatly, Donghyuck says, “I’m not like that.”

Mark rubs his eyes and wishes this was easier. “Trust me, I do know.”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply; he just continues staring at Mark, his eyes dark and probing. 

Mark stares back because he’s tired of looking away, tired of not knowing, tired of everything. Last night’s conversation is jumbled in his head but he remembers there is one question he never got to ask, one question that he already sort of knows the answer to, but he decides to ask it, anyway, because most of all, he’s tired of this guessing game they’re both placing, this painful, complicated dance where they keep stepping on each other’s toes with or without meaning to. 

“Why did you leave?” Mark asks finally. “You didn’t come back for four days.” 

Donghyuck sucks in a breath. His posture is rigid and his eyes are cold but his voice is steady, almost demure. 

Mark prepares himself for in the inevitable onslaught. 

“Because you don’t get to do that,” Donghyuck says. “You don’t get to call all the shots and make my decisions for me. You don’t get to say ‘Donghyuck won’t go’ _for_ me.”

Mark should accede but he can’t. He should but he’s not all that different from Donghyuck. 

“It wasn’t about you. It was about me. _I_ didn’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” Donghyuck hisses. “Don’t go, but let _me_ go.” 

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why the fuck not?” 

Mark closes his eyes. He’s tired of this apartment, too, tired of pacing in it from dawn to dusk. He’s tired of waiting. For four days he waited. 

“Fine,” Mark says, opening his eyes. He hates that he’s giving in but he made Donghyuck lose an argument in front of Baekhyun. At least now they’ll be even. An eye for an eye; a loss for a loss. “Whatever. We can go.” 

Donghyuck’s bluster dies down. He blinks. “Are you...You're serious?”

Mark stands up. “Five minutes,” he says. 

This time he’s the one who walks out first. 

§§•§§

The new Conn-Pod is a two-story building located between the Engineering Center and the main headquarters for Ludus, and serves as a safehold for in-use Navis, but the _old_ Conn-Pod, built underground the main headquarters, is a keep for the old, out-dated Navis that Ludus no longer uses. 

Really, it's a graveyard. 

Not just metaphorically, either.

The stairs to the Conn-Podd feel like a tomb: The concrete walls are wet, covered in mildew, and the steps tremble underneath their combined weight. Cobwebs decorate the corners of the walls, so thick that they've become opaque. Even the air smells stale—like rubble and sour metal—Mark has to pinch his nose as they continue their descent. Donghyuck, of course, is unfazed. If anything, he looks intrigued, examining every square inch of the staircase—and then the hallway—as if it holds the greatest secrets to mankind. 

Mark shakes his head but he doesn’t say anything. He merely leads Donghyuck to the set of double doors that serve as the only entrance to the Conn-Pod. 

Mark types in the code and watches as the doors swing open and the automatic fluorescent lighting flickers on. 

“Here it is,” Mark says tiredly, already feeling that familiar pressure building up in his throat. “Go crazy.”

Donghyuck shoots him a look, clearly catching onto Mark’s sarcasm, but for once, he doesn’t reply with his own scathing comment. He strides through the double-doors like a general striding toward his army—there’s a surety in his posture that Mark nearly envies. 

Unlike Donghyuck, Mark takes his time, several long seconds passing before his feet finally move and he enters the one place he’s never wanted to go back to.

Truthfully, the inside of the Conn-Pod isn’t particularly spectacular. It’s a large room, certainly, one of the largest rooms in all of Ludus, but every square inch of it is filled with something. Spare parts that don’t work anymore, old laboratory tables that the Engineers used when they were tinkering with Navi tech, and, of course, the rows of Navis. 

The Navis most Fliers use today are thin and streamlined, but most of the Navis stored here were built during the transition between Jaegars and Navis. Thus, most of them are bulkier than the models Baekhyun and the rest of the Fliers use today. 

Mark strolls through the room, examining the most famous ones. 

Kim Yubin named her Navi the Thunderbolt. It rests in the Southeastern corner of the room. Most of the paint has faded, but back when Yubin was alive, it was probably an electrifying yellow: a practical choice for search-and-rescue missions and a bold color for someone who was once a bold Flier. 

Choi Seunghyun’s Navi is bulkier than Yubin’s—it must have been one of the very first ones built—but it’s a lot more eclectic in color and name. The label etched on the ground in front of the Navi says it used to be called, “The Black-Eyed Pea.” Mark has no idea why Seunghyun wanted to name it after an American band but he also—he also likes it. It feels like a joke, almost, but a joke is better than silence and sorrow. 

Mark’s about to laugh, actually, when Donghyuck’s voice reverberates off of the cavernous walls. 

“Why did Baekhyun want me to come _here_?”

Mark’s laughter dies down. 

He braces himself. _Rip the bandaid off_ , he thinks. He needs to rip it off, deal with the pain, and—and go. 

When he finds Donghyuck, he jerks his head in a ‘come hither’ direction and walks to the very end of the room. In the very far corner, almost completely ensconced in shadows, is the object of Mark’s nightmares. 

Selfishly, like a coward, Mark can’t look at it. 

Instead, he looks at Donghyuck and Donghyuck looks at the Navi.

It’s almost worth coming here to see the enchanted wonder on Donghyuck’s face. Once, Mark had felt the same way.

“It’s beautiful,” Donghyuck breathes, eyes wide, mouth slack in awe. 

_I know._

This Navi is the most modern one in the old Conn-Pod. It’s made out of kevlar and graphene and stone that was harvested from a Rift and harnessed into metal. The base is cloud-white but the stripes that run across the upper arms and legs of the bodysuit are made out of a metal that resembles gold. It isn’t gold, of course, but it almost doesn’t matter. 

When his brother was alive, he used to fly during sunsets; the pink and orange ribbons in the sky would reflect off of the white-and-gold of the Navi until all he merged into the sun like a boy in a Renaissance painting. Mark wishes he had had the foresight to take a photograph. 

“It’s even prettier in the sky,” Mark offers. 

Donghyuck’s fingers graze the Navi tentatively, reverently, like a pilgrim touching rosary-beads. “It’s so…” For a second, he looks frustrated, as if he can’t find the words to properly describe this Navi. “Whose is this?” Donghyuck asks instead. 

_Rip the bandaid off._

Mark takes a deep breath. He finally raises his head. 

It's exactly as he remembers it. 

“The Icarus used to belong to a Flier named Lee Taeyong.” Mark’s voice echoes in the almost-empty room. He wonders if his brother knows what Ludus wants to do to the Icarus. He wonders if his brother cares. “It’s yours now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! this might be the last update in a little while. i have a lot irl i have to deal with, esp with the pandemic, and that takes precedent. however, i will continue if! and i will finish it, so pls don't worry about that.
> 
> if you want to talk or ask any more if related questions my twitter and cc are crashbang12
> 
> (& also! ty so much for the comments + kudos!!! i wish i could leave a paragraph here but it's literally almost 5 AM and ya girl is mad tired. but once again ty)


	14. ii.iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! *peeks through fingers* I apologize for being so MIA, but this chapter was definitely the most difficult one to write. I'm not satisfied with it, and a lot needs to happen that didn't happen yet, but I hope you like it, anyway.

The moment Donghyuck sees it, he knows. The Icarus belongs to him. 

He trails his fingers across the bone-white, snake-smooth biosuit. In response, the Icarus shimmers like sunlight streaming through alabaster clouds; the white paneling transforms into rose and the gold turns into spun-straw. All Navis look spectacular in action, but none of them look this beautiful dormant. This, the Icarus, isn’t just another chunk of metal waiting for its owner to power it up. It’s _alive_ , and it makes Donghyuck’s heart whirl like a newborn bird unfurling its molten feathers for the first time, all chaos and cacophony and racing, tingling anticipation. 

“How old is it?” Donghyuck asks, mind whirling with a thousand questions. There are small, gill-shaped slits on the shoulders of the Icarus—cooling vents—and older models don't have those. It can’t be older than four, five years, tops. 

After a pause, Mark says, “Three years."

 _Called it._ Donghyuck grins. “Basically brand-new.”

He turns his attention from the body of the Icarus to the helmet. The helmet is pure-white and egg-shaped. Judging by the model and age of the Icarus, the inter-nodal AI system is wired within the helmet itself. The portable fission reactor—all Navis have them—is probably in the back, protected by a mesh, spiderweb-shaped network of ultra-thin Drift metal. The Icarus probably also has internal propellers, a set of jet thrusters, and anti-gravity modules, but he's just guessing now. If he had access to the blueprints, he would know for sure… the stories those designs could tell, the secrets they would reveal. 

“Where are the blueprints?” 

“What?”

Suppressing an eye-roll at great personal cost, Donghyuck repeats his question. 

“Why do you need them?” Mark asks.

He turns around and shoots Mark an exasperated look.

What had Dr. Kim said last night, during their second bottle of soju? _As your Bond with Mark continues to develop, the longer you stay away from him, the more you will crave him, and the more it will hurt to be without him, Donghyuck-ssi._ He wasn’t wrong. Donghyuck still feels it, the shadow of the migraine he’s endured for the last four days; it clings to him like a child unwilling to let go of his mother’s hand. The only thing that soothes his headache is Mark’s presence, which is even more frustrating. 

“Because… I’m a Flier now?” _Don’t say duh, Donghyuck, don’t say duh, you’re better than that._ “Duh.” 

He _feels_ Mark sigh before he hears it. The sound reverberates like a string stubbornly continuing to vibrate long after it’s been plucked.

“You think I don’t know that?” Mark replies. “I brought you here.”

“Yeah, after I walked out—”

Mark’s eyes darken.

“—Whatever. Just show me the blueprints before training begins, so I don’t make a fool of myself in front of the instructor.”

Being the best Trainee won’t be enough when everyone else figures out what got him here. _Who_ got him here. He’ll be scrutinized, picked apart like a carcass waiting for a wake of vultures underneath a blistering sun. When that happens, he’ll have to prove himself, and this time it won’t be to tragically airheaded, idiotic Alpha bastards, but to the real deal: to the Fliers and the Pilots and support personnel that are fighting the war. 

He doesn’t expect Mark to understand, but when Mark purses his lips, so tightly that his mouth becomes a flat line, disappointment settles in his stomach, anyway, like a dead fish floating upside-down on the sea. _Of course, you don’t get it,_ he thinks and imagines sinking a knife into the dead fish and tearing it apart, slowly and carefully, until he can separate the scales from the skeleton and the blood from the tender pink flesh. It’s useless, so useless, being disappointed. 

“What?” Donghyuck says when Mark says nothing. “Do you not have them or something?”

Mark’s lips uncurl, and his jaw jumps. The black in his eyes swallows the white until Donghyuck’s watery image is reflected in his eyes. 

“Well?”

Quietly, Mark says, “No. I don't.”

Donghyuck frowns. “Why?”

Mark’s eyes dart to the ground and then back to him. “The—the Icarus was never mine.”

 _So who_ … 

“You… said something about a… a Tae… ” Donghyuck closes his eyes briefly, wracking his head. “Taeyong? Does he—”

Mark’s face remains impassive, carefully impassive, but his scent spikes before rolling through the room like a swift-footed fog roaming Jeju Island during the rainy season. A thick, hungry, ensnaring fog, a phantasmic fog, that blurs the lines between the sand and the tide, the sky and the sea, the forest bed and the forest canopy. You can't ever catch it. Even if you unfurl your fingers for hours, it will never hold your hand. 

Donghyuck’s impatience melts into confusion. “Mark?”

Mark’s lips twitch. 

“Are you—”

“Stop,” Mark says quickly, tightly.

Donghyuck stares at him. “I didn’t… I wasn’t…” 

Mark shoves his hands in his pockets. His fingers aren’t trembling, but they contort in jerky, awkward motions. He pulls out a key, silver and rusted, old-fashioned.

“What-what're you doing?”

Mark doesn’t reply. 

The keys make a clean, almost-perfect arc in the air. They hit his shoes and bounce off the plastic before landing on the floor a few inches away from him.

“You’re not leaving,” Donghyuck says, disbelieving. “You can’t leave. I don’t remember the way out of here.” 

“I thought you knew everything, right?”

It should be a compliment, but it feels like saltwater on a cut, like picking a callous until it oozes pus. Donghyuck knows when he's being _mocked_. He just never expected it to come from Mark. 

Donghyuck squats to pick up the key. He ignores the churning in his stomach, the way the disappointment bubbles to the surface again. Steadily, he says, “I was fucking with you, Lee. Of course, I remember.” 

Through the door, up three flights of stairs, a right, a right, a left, through the third door. After that, it’s a five-minute walk to the Fliers Barracks if he takes the shortcut.

Mark nods. His hair falls over his eyes, spilling like slick oil on brackish water on the bridge of his nose. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he turns on his heel. “I’ll see you later, Donghyuck-ah,” he says softly, almost as if he's sorry.

_Sorry means jack-shit if you’re gonna leave, Lee. I would know. I've left before._

Donghyuck grips his basketball shorts and twists the nylon in between his fingers to prevent himself from doing something stupid or embarrassing, like begging Mark to stay.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why are you so stupid, Lee Donghyuck?_

When Donghyuck is certain Mark is truly gone, he sinks to his knees and cradles his head in his lap. The migraine slicing through his brain is familiar and unwanted, like the frayed edge of a piece of ancient copper wire cutting his skin. Only the presence of the Icarus, humming faintly behind him as if it were still alive, keeps him from groaning out loud. 

§§•§§

“My grandfather used to talk to me about you,” Donghyuck says. He must look like an idiot, perched on the floor, talking to a Navi. “Well, not you specifically, but he kept up with all the war stuff, so he knew about Navis as soon as they— _you_ —were created.”

His grandfather was once an engineering professor at a fancy university in Seoul. He gave up his position after he married Donghyuck’s grandmother and moved to live with her on her farm in Jeju, but he couldn't completely give up physics, the first love of his life. In his spare time, he filled thin, tattered, convenience-store spiral notebooks with designs and blueprints about the Navis. After Donghyuck was old enough to teach himself how to read, he tried poring over his grandfather’s notes. He was six, and he didn’t have a single clue how any of the machines actually operated, but it wasn’t entirely useless. He learned what love looked like when it was splattered on blue-lined, tea-stained pages in multicolored ink and smudged graphite. 

“He told me I should try being one. A Flier.” 

Just as he says that another flash of pain erupts in his head.

He groans. _Fuck you, Mark._

“I was a toddler when he told me that,” he continues, rubbing his temple, “so I don't think he was serious. He was just a geek. He used to buy me superhero toys and tell me I'd be like one of them one day, but he…he died when I was a kid.” 

At least his grandfather hadn't died because of the war. He had been home; it had been a stroke, and they got to bury him underneath his favorite tree in the backyard. The morning of his funeral, Donghyuck and Yuna wandered into the nearby woods, tugged white yarrows and snowy marigolds out of the pale, parched dirt, and sprinkled them inside of his wooden coffin. The day was warm and listless and long. His grandmother’s prayers had also been long and listless. The twins had fallen asleep halfway through them, their toddler arms and legs tangling with each other's as they snored underneath the lonely, knotted, gray sycamore. 

In the list of ways in which life has pissed on Donghyuck’s metaphorical dinner, the funeral doesn’t even crack top five. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know why he’s ruminating on all of this. It’s not like it matters anymore. 

As if she agrees, his grandmother’s voice rings in his mind: _Stop it, Donghyuck-ah_. _You'll be a drowning man if you keep indulging in your sadness._

She's right. He's getting carried away. 

Standing up, he dusts the dirt off of his ass and turns on his heel to look at the Icarus. 

Maybe it's a trick of his mind or a trick of the light, but the Icarus looks different—still beautiful, still _proud_ , but also gaunt and skeletal, like an ancient, withered tree that conquered the winter at the expense of its laminated-green leaves and pearly-pink spring buds. It looks like his grandfather's tree, immortal and lonely, a tombstone composed of bark and sap and distant memories. 

_You've gone through a lot in your three years, haven't you?_

Like before, Donghyuck trails his fingers across the breast-plate. There is a promise of heat underneath his fingertips, a promise of life, despite the ghostly facade. 

_Don’t worry. You won't be alone anymore. It’s you and me from now on._

§§•§§

Mark isn't there when Donghyuck enters the apartment, which makes his headache worse but also gives him enough privacy to collapse on the sofa. When he wakes up, his body is sore, and a uniform is tucked next to him alongside a messily scrawled note. 

_This is one of Captain Kim’s old uniforms. Wear it to dinner._

_-Mark_

_P.S. Dr. Kim left your birth control and heat suppressants in a cabinet in the kitchen._

Turning red, Donghyuck curses himself, Mark, and the existence of heats before he gets to his feet and staggers to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother with the suppressants—they won’t work, anyway—and swallows the birth control pills with a glass of orange juice he found in the fridge. 

He shouldn't change. He shouldn't go to dinner, either. He should stay here to get back at Mark for taking the coward's way out. Serves him right for being such a confusing, annoying, irritating piece of—

Grimacing at another sudden onslaught of pain, Donghyuck bends at the waist and thinks, _fine, fine, I'm going, Jesus fucking Christ, just_ stop _._

He takes a shower to wash the stink of alcohol and despair off of his body and douses himself in one of Mark’s scent-suppressing soaps. His scent, which had once been miraculously nonexistent, is coming back full-force; it’s a problem he’ll agonize over for another day, but for now, he focuses on making himself presentable. That means brushing his teeth and dressing up in Captain Kim’s uniform. Captain Kim is— _was_ —the same height as him, but he was much broader. The uniform bunches around his shoulders and thighs no matter how many times he straightens the fabric. 

Honestly, he sort of looks like a kid playing in adult’s clothing—which, well, isn’t _too_ far from the truth. 

_Whatever. This is as good as it's gonna get._

Chewing on his bottom lip, he locks the apartment before leaving. It’s dark out, and there are no stars, but it’s nice to walk the same steps he used to walk with his friends.

_They should be back, right? It’s been a week._

They all passed, he’s sure of it. With Jaemin and Heejin on the team, there's no way they didn't. Honestly, he’s more concerned about whether they’re pissed off at him for ditching them right after they formed teams, but… 

Renjun would have told them why he left, right? 

_No, he definitely did. He had to._

If the other Omegas didn’t know why he left, they would have tried tracking him down like _—_

_Don’t think about him. Don’t do it, Lee Donghyuck, don’t you dare—_

As soon as he steps inside the cafeteria, his eyes land on Mark. 

It’s like going back in time, looking at Mark, like rereading the same line in the same chapter of a novel he still hasn’t finished. Maybe it’s because he’s gotten used to Mark being in a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair messy and run-through. This Mark isn't that Mark. This Mark has slicked-back hair and a uniform that sits on him like a second skin. His arms are folded across his chest and his head is angled to another Flier, a girl with ashy-blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. He looks poised and, somehow, unapproachable. 

Donghyuck’s stomach churns. Wrenching his eyes away from Mark, he straightens his back as he heads deeper inside the Mess Hall. 

If looking at Mark is rereading a time-cherished line, walking through the cafeteria is like stepping inside of a childhood home and realizing the contours of each room are different than he’d remembered. 

The room is circular and partitioned into different sections. In the middle of the room, like the center of a bulls-eye, Head General Kwon sits by herself at an elaborately decorated table, using a fork and knife to cut through what looks like steak. Farthest from her are the tables for the Trainees. Those are positioned closest to the windows; instead of chairs, there are low-rising benches. Meanwhile, the Flier table is closest to Kwon and is far fancier. Crafted out of bamboo and painted with illustrations of traditional cranes, the table doesn’t look nearly as old-fashioned as it should. The Fliers who have already sitten down track Donghyuck with shrewd, interested eyes as he approaches them, but he’s getting a lot less scrutiny than he expected. 

Flier Byun welcomes him with a wave and a grin. Surprisingly, he’s not sitting anywhere close to Mark. His shoeless feet are perched on the edge of the table and tilts his chair back as he appraises Donghyuck.

“Hello, Donghyuck-ssi. Uniform fit well?”

Donghyuck sits across from him and gestures at his shoulders. “Sort of?”

“Don’t worry about it. Minnie’s shoulders were a lot narrower than yours, but he built up muscle in no time.” 

“Uh…Minnie?”

“Captain Kim Minseok.” 

“Oh.” Donghyuck flushes. “Right.” 

“Do you know what happened to him?” Flier Byun asks. He’s still smiling, but there’s a questioning look in his eyes as if this really matters to him. “How much do you know, actually?”

“Well, I—” Donghyuck bites his cheek and decides not to mention Mark’s confusing outburst in the alley. “—I was there for the memorial. It was an Acra attack, right? The Head General mentioned it was classified as a Category Four.” 

“Five now, actually.”

“They changed it?”

Flier Byun nods. “The same Acra attacked Thailand recently, so the PPDC updated it to a Five.”

“Really?” A lot of Acras look the same, more or less, so Donghyuck asks, “How’d they know it was the same one?” 

“There was a trace of its skin on our clothes. The doctors took samples and compared them with some of the samples in Thailand. Perfect genetic match.”

Oh. That makes sense. Donghyuck makes a fist with his hand and rests his chin on top of it as he considers this new bit of information. “I’m guessing Thailand didn’t take it down?” 

Flier Byun grimaces. “They made a valiant effort,” he says, which makes it sound like it wasn’t all that valiant, “but they opted to use the bulk of their Fliers to evacuate Bangkok instead of fighting the actual Acra.”

“Do you think they should have fought it?”

“I think they procrastinate on doing their homework,” Flier Byun says lightly, though the shadow creeping in his eyes is anything but blithe. He drops his feet from the table and shakes his head like a cat after being forced to take a bath. “Let’s not worry about that now. This is your first dinner with the big leagues.” His grin is back, even broader than before. “Time for a drink, eh?” 

Donghyuck makes a face. 

"I'm guessing you don't like alcohol." 

Considering last night, it’s safe to say _yes_. His memory is patchy, but he remembers Dr. Kim’s neat, albeit cramped, kitchen and the bottles of soju they both went through. Dr. Kim patted his hair gently when he started blabbering about how useless Bonds were before handing him off to Jaehyun. Jaehyun dragged him to Mark’s door like an exasperated owner trying to tug his pet away from the fire hydrant. The door swung open, and Mark's unfairly handsome face loomed in front of his vision. Everything after that was a blur of Mark’s scent, and Mark’s hands, and the stubble on Mark’s chin. 

“Not really.” 

Flier Byun’s face softens. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I’m not an alcohol guy myself.”

“Really?” 

“Being a functioning alcoholic tends to make you stick away from a drink,” Flier Byun says casually as if it happens to everyone. It doesn’t, but Donghyuck sort of appreciates the Flier’s nonchalant attitude when he talks about it. “It’s fine. None of the Fliers force you into that kind of shit, least of all me. If anyone tries, let me know, and I’ll kick their ass to fucking Manila.” 

Donghyuck feels himself relaxing, despite everything. Flier Byun smells like apples and lavender, and there’s something strangely hypnotic about his features. He carries the strength and authority of a stereotypical Alpha, but his bright-eyed stare is surprisingly warm and the grin dancing across his face is deceptively childlike. He reminds Donghyuck of the mischievous sparrows in his grandmother’s backyard that befriended his grandmother in return for handfuls of chewy sesame seeds. With one exception, Donghyuck might like Flier Byun more than anyone other Alpha he knows. Or maybe, deep down, he just wants Flier Byun to like him as much as he likes Mark. 

He opens his mouth, about to say thank you, but before he can, a different voice exclaims, “Ah, there you are, Donghyuck-ah. I thought I’d never catch a glimpse of our latest Flier!” 

Flier Byun raises an eyebrow. “Your Flier,” he says, shaking his head, eyes twinkling. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Park, he’s on _my_ team now.”

Junghwa laughs, that loud, flamboyant laugh, and it reminds Donghyuck of all of his nightmares.

_Breathe, Donghyuck, breathe, breathe—_

“Well,” Junghwa says, resting a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder and curling it protectively, “he was _my_ Trainee first, Byun, and I figure I’m the reason why he got here. Isn’t that right, Donghyuck-ah?”

Donghyuck nods and looks away. 

There’s a painting of a black-headed crane on his section of the table, and he stares at it, memorizing the curves of its long, graceful neck and the pure-white star on its forehead. The crane’s wings are elongated, its feathers splayed out, but it’s impossible to tell whether it’s ascending or descending. 

_At least,_ Donghyuck thinks, _you can move._

“Donghyuck? Kid?”

The hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder clamps down harder and Donghyuck bites his lips. He raises his head and sees Flier Byun peering at him. 

“Y-Yes?” 

“You good? You spaced out there for a little bit.”

“He's got a bad habit of doing that,” Junghwa replies. “It took so long to train that out of him at Incheon.”

_He wants badly to do good, to be good. He still hasn’t grown into the fatigues Incheon gave him, so he wrapped bandages around his shoulders and stuffed his undershirt with repurposed bed sheets. They hide the bruises, but Junghwa is yelling at him again and he’s grabbing Donghyuck’s wrist. It’s gonna turn blue in the morning, blue and purple and gray, like hydrangeas In the afternoon, Dr. Moon will ask him if he’s doing alright and he’ll have to say yes, yes, he’s fine, this is all fine. He’s thirteen and this is just what his dad does sometimes, it’s fine—_

“Funny,” Flier Byun says, and though his voice is light, somehow it manages to pierce through the haze, “I don’t recall asking _you_ , Park.” 

Donghyuck blinks. The hand is still holding him, and the world is still halfway gone, but he's back. 

Somehow, it’s easier to talk. 

He licks his lips and tastes the slightest swipe of blood. 

“Sorry,” he says, relieved to find his voice is steady. “I’m, uh, I’m pretty tired these days.” 

Flier Byun's voice thaws. “It’s been a rough couple of days,” he says. “Why don’t you go and get some rest, kiddo? It’s not like there’s anyone important to talk to right now.”

Donghyuck’s brow furrows. For a moment, he forgets who’s standing behind him. “I can — I can… do that?” 

“No,” Junghwa says, a shadow of anger hidden in the curtness of his response. “Of course, you can’t, Donghyuck-ah.”

“Actually, kid,” Flier Byun interrupts, “the only person you have to answer to is your Captain.” He grins again, but this isn’t a sparrow smile. It’s hawklike. “Last I checked, that was _me_.”

Warmth floods Donghyuck’s insides, foreign and wonderful. He thinks about his grandmother, and his sister and his brothers. He thinks about his grandfather’s quiet grave. He thinks about the cottage, about Dr. Moon’s kindness, about the way the doctor never pried more than Donghyuck could handle. He thinks about Jeno, about Heejin, about Hyunjin, about the home they made with fairy lights and stolen food and generous laughs. Finally, he thinks about Mark, about Mark’s eyes and Mark’s hands and Mark’s irritating stubbornness, about the way Mark always pushes and always pulls, like a fickle, restless tide. 

Like a drunk man, he lurches to his feet. 

The chair falls behind him. So does the hand on his shoulder. The sound it makes is loud, loud enough to attract attention from most of the room. People start looking at him, but he doesn’t pay attention to them, or at least not to most of them; as he leaves, his eyes move of their own accord, and he glances, one last time, at Mark Lee. 

§§•§§

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He just moves and his feet take down three flights of stairs, a left, a left, and a right, and then through the door. He doesn’t know the code, but only a few numbers are worn-down, so he punches them in different orders until the door swings open and he’s allowed inside. 

Then, with shaking legs and a shaking body and a shaking head, he stumbles to the Icarus. 

§§•§§

_His grandmother is a young woman. She looks like his mom, but his mom was fair-haired and his grandmother’s hair is as thick and coarse as sheep wool. She looks like the sketches his grandfather would scribble on receipts, in his notebooks, on tax documents, and even on Donghyuck’s homework when he was helping him with addition._

_“Grandma?”_

_She gives him a look and he squirms. In his dream, his grandmother is still terrifying and he feels nine again. Like his real grandmother, his dream grandmother doesn’t bother with formalities. She sits down on the sand—there isn’t an ocean in sight, but this is the beach; Donghyuck knows that too—and crosses her legs like she does whenever she makes kimchi. Her legs are sunburned and wrinkled. Her face is young but her limbs are old._

_“Was it worth it?” she asks, speaking informally. “Leaving your siblings behind?” He hears her implicit thought: Leaving me behind?_

_Ashamed, Donghyuck says nothing._

_“I told you not to go see him, Donghyuck-ah. I told you, your father will only give you pain, and you still left. I told you, men like him, all they know is how to hurt other people. Why did you go?”_

_He doesn’t have an answer._

_“Why, Donghyuck? Why are you there?”_

§§•§§

“—Donghyuck. Donghyuck, please.”

Donghyuck blinks the sleep out of his eyes. His back hurts. “Mark?”

Mark curses, but his voice is wet. “Why’re you here, Donghyuck?” 

It takes him a few moments to remember where he is. When he does, he hums. This isn’t a bad place to sleep. He just needs a few pillows and blankets, maybe a portable radio. He tells Mark this and Mark grunts, the sound bouncing off of the walls. 

“No.”

“But—”

“ _No_.”

“Whatever,” Donghyuck mumbles, crawling up to a sitting position. He’d fallen asleep at the base of the Icarus, and his neck aches. He massages it, and mumbles, “What the hell are you doing here now?” 

“I asked _you_ that.”

“Simple, I was sleeping.” Donghyuck yawns. “Your turn.” 

“This isn’t where you’re supposed to—”

“ _Your turn_ ,” Donghyuck interrupts before he can keep nagging. “Twenty words or less, Lee, I’m already pissed off and I don’t need a fucking lecture.” 

The Bond tugs in Mark’s direction, a sudden, disapproving gesture. When Mark replies, though, his voice is even and Donghyuck knows he’s trying to chill out—or at least appear that way. 

“Training is in an hour.” 

In less than a second, Donghyuck is on his feet, though his knees are trying to murder him. He blinks the sleepiness out of his eyes and yanks Mark’s wrist, uncaring about protocol or pretenses now. 

“ _Where_?” he asks. He feels like he’s six again, and his mom is teaching him how to swim in their neighbor's pool; his entire body had thrummed with excitement that day, and not even the initial sting of chlorine when he opened his eyes underwater for the first time could dampen it. “How far is it from here? Which building? Where, Mark?” 

Mark exhales through his nose sharply, and his scent scours. “Not far,” he says before unlatching Donghyuck’s hand from his wrist. Donghyuck flushes, embarrassed, but before he dwells on it, Mark murmurs, “Follow me.” 

§§•§§

Donghyuck spins around, taking in the large, circular room. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

There’s nothing like this in Incheon. There’s nothing like this _anywhere_. 

Fluorescent yellow pipes run across the walls, randomly melding into star-shaped synapses. Fluid gushes inside of the pipes, but it’s impossible to tell what they are or what they’re doing. The rest of the room is equally dazzling and equally confusing: the dome-shaped ceiling is painted with constellations; there are frosted pods instead of chairs, and screens— _so many_ screens—hang from the ceilings like chandeliers. Strangely, the room doesn’t smell like copper, or even like Drift metal, but like kerosene. The stench of oil is thick, so thick that when Donghyuck swallows, he can taste it underneath his tongue. Even stranger, the walls are thrumming, and the liquid in the pipes makes a weird clunking noise that resembles a heartbeat. He feels like he’s inside the brain of a robot or cyborg; a very flamboyant, almost kitschy, robot, that is. 

“This can’t be real,” he says, fighting the urge to run around and fiddle with everything he sees. “It looks like a movie.”

Someone laughs, and a woman steps out of the shadows, her hair plaited in three strips. She’s wearing some sort of scent blocker and it’s impossible to tell what she is, which Donghyuck sort of likes. She’s holding a tablet—it sort of looks like one of the HoloPads that Samsung came out with last year but a lot fancier—and a pair of broken glasses. Perching the glasses on her nose, she narrows her eyes as she looks at him before clicking her tongue in approval. 

“It’s been a while, Mark,” she says nonchalantly even as she scrutinizes Donghyuck. Donghyuck scrutinizes her back. She looks frazzled but also as if she’s made her peace with that. “Not since—well, there’s no point in bringing that up. Is this your new partner?”

_New?_

“You had a partner?” asks Donghyuck, surprised.

He turns to look at Mark, but Mark's face is unreadable.

“It’s not important,” Mark says. “Donghyuck, this is Ludus’s Psych Evaluator, Kwon Yuri. Yuri, this is Donghyuck.”

She rolls her eyes. “Call me Yuri, _please_. I’m not that much older than you two.”

Donghyuck makes a mental note to question Mark about his partner later, sticks his hand out to Yuri, and says, “You look so much younger than Mark, Yuri-ssi. I couldn’t tell you were our tutor.”

She laughs, pleased, and Donghyuck feels Mark’s irritation through their shared Bond. “Technically,” she says, “I’m not _really_ a tutor. I’m a licensed psychologist, so I’m here to evaluate your mental condition. Being a Flier is _hugely_ psychologically draining, so my aunt—the Head General—hired me to make sure all of her Fliers are up to the task. If you’re not in peak mental condition, you won’t be allowed on any missions, I’m afraid.” 

She speaks at a leisurely pace as if she has all the time in the world, and Donghyuck appreciates that. He absorbs everything she’s just said and asks, “What's _peak mental condition_? What’s your scale? Do you use GAF? GHQ-12?”

Yuri smiles and twirls her hands in a circle. “I use these. The pods are called D.R.E.A.M.S., and they basically use a bunch of fancy technology to read your brain waves. That data is sent to our neuroscientists, who use even fancier technology to decode all of the emotions you feel, as well as the levels of cortisol and noradrenaline in your system. They quantify the data and I qualify it based on joint studies conducted by Ludus and SNU. If anything deviates from the norm, we pull you out.” 

“Define _exceptionally_."

“It’s purely based on my judgment,” she admits. When Donghyuck makes a face, she adds, “My judgment is _excellent_ , I’ll have you know. I work with several clinics in Seoul and we meet up regularly to discuss any discrepancies within our patients. My credentials are spotless, trust me.”

Donghyuck doesn’t trust her, not really, but he keeps that opinion to himself. Right now, it doesn’t matter whether he trusts her. If Ludus assigned her, he has to deal with it, so he will. 

He nods, accepting her spiel, and asks, “I still don’t understand why you’re here, though. I thought this was training.”

“It is, Donghyuck-ssi.”

“I...don't understand.” 

“You didn’t explain it to him, Mark?”

“I didn’t have time,” Mark says defensively.

Donghyuck scoffs, irritated. “We had a week,” he retorts. 

Mark tenses. “Where were you for most of that week?” he asks, voice cold. “I don’t recall seeing you around.”

“It takes _thirty_ seconds, you colossal, fucking—”

Yuri clears her throat loudly. “Why don’t I explain?” 

Donghyuck snaps his mouth shut and nods at her. His cheeks are feeling hotter than usual, but he refuses to feel embarrassed. _Mark’s_ being the childish one. 

“Only half of your training as a Flier is physical,” Yuri explains. “By the time the Trainees have advanced to become Fliers, they have already learned the core tenants of combat. Of course, they still continue honing their skills, but a huge chunk of their training is focused on strengthening them mentally so they can handle the Drift. Some Fliers, like the Captain of your squadron, can enter without the help of another person, but you two will be relying on each other. You’ll be entering the Drift together, so you need to learn how to control your emotions as a unit before you can actually fly your Navis in real-time.” 

“So I won’t get to test out the Icarus?” Donghyuck says flatly. “Until I—control my emotions with _him_?”

“Donghyuck,” Mark warns.

“That’s not—” Donghyuck shakes his head, almost wanting to laugh. “Jesus Christ. _Him_?”

That’s the one thing he can’t do with Mark. If he hated Mark, and only hated Mark, he might be able to do it. If he liked Mark, only liked Mark, he might be able to do it, too. But he doesn’t hate Mark, he can’t hate Mark, no matter how hard he tries, no matter how hard he wants to. He can't like Mark either _._ Liking Mark is liking the way a lick of fire feels around his fingers or the way sea swallows ships on a whim. It’s liking the sea itself, wild and unpredictable, and consistently chaotic. No matter what impossible feelings Mark can invoke in him, Donghyuck knows this: He can’t like something he can’t control. 

Yuri shrugs.

“Well, why don’t we see?” she suggests. “Go and enter one of the DREAM pods. I’ll stimulate a Drift, and your job will be to find each other inside of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys. 
> 
> It's been over a month since I've last updated. To be honest, this chapter has been written and rewritten more than any other chapter in IF! There were many times when I started writing, got halfway through, and deleted everything. I'm not satisfied, still, but there's only so much revision a girl can go through before she goes crazy. Regardless, it's nice to come back to IF, to these characters, and get to explore them again. The pace is terribly slow at the moment, but the groundwork for part two needs to be laid out, because once the action truly starts, it doesn't stop. 
> 
> All of that said, I want to thank everyone who's commented, whether it was once or through the entire story. Writing has been difficult, due to a variety of factors related to my personal life, and these comments are often what gives me the motivation to keep writing. If you can, please leave them when you can! (Ofc, if you can't, I understand.) 
> 
> As always, my CC and Twitter are crashbang12!


	15. ii.iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor character death
> 
> this is a pretty slow chapter. a lot more was supposed to happen, but it didn't fit pacing wise and so i decided to use this as an opportunity to reveal more of mark's back story & hopefully answer some of your questions about him! (i imagine, though, that the alternative might have happened and more questions are raised.)

Yuri straps him in. “Alright, Mark?”

“Yeah.”

She double-checks the harness and says, “Remember not to chase a specific memory, alright?"  


You're never supposed to chase a memory in the Drift—you're never supposed to chase anything at all—but this is common knowledge, so he just nods. She salutes him and steps out. 

The glass cover slides down, encasing him inside a dark sphere. The familiar whirring of the machine fills the air like a fucked up lullaby. 

He places his hand on his knee to keep it from jiggling. 

A warning sound rings in the Pod, high-pitched and ambulance-like. 

“Mark?” Yuri says through the Intercom. “Your breathing rate and heart-rate are already accelerating. Are you sure—"

“I’m good," Mark says, tired, so tired. “Just start. Please.”   


Yuri hesitates. "I'm going to count down from five, alright?"

"Don't bother. Do it now.”

"Mark—"  


" _Now_."

She stops speaking, the machines keep running, and for a while, there is this delirious, half-alive noise. Then, even that ends, like the end of an end, or maybe the beginning of an end, and like a snuffed candle, the Pod is submerged in darkness. 

§§•§§ 

_"Mark, it's time to go to bed."  
_

Mom's face is a blur. The only thing he can picture clearly is the eyeliner she used to wear: as thick and sharp as her heels. And her mole. She had a mole underneath her left eye just like him. 

_"I don't wanna go to bed," he whines.  
_

He watches as he lies on top of the carpeted stairs and refuses to get up. 

_Mom picks him up by his collar and lifts him up_. 

_"Sorry, bud," she says. Her hands are warm and soft, even if her grip is tough. She smells like paint remover and hibiscus and clean linen. "We've got church tomorrow."  
_

_"I don't wanna go to church."  
_

_"That's too bad."_

_"Jugraj doesn't go to church."_

_"Jugraj isn't Christian. He goes to temple."_

_“I’m not Christian neither."_

_"Either, Mark.”_

_“No! Neither, neither, neither!"_

He feels her snap. It’s like a clarinet reed splintering into two uneven pieces. It's crumbled graphite and ripped paper and broken childhood memories. 

_"Enough, Mark," she snaps and hauls him to his room._

He remembers his room clearly, too. A white door with a 'do not enter' sign he made Mom write for him. Spiderman stickers on the doorknob. Orange-juice stains on the play-mat underneath the window. His curtains were blue like his bedsheets and his bookshelf. His blankets were red, and his little Marvel backpack that he used to drag to kindergarten was also red. He had a pretend piano and a pair of sneakers that were too big for him. He had picture books in Korean and English. He had Mom. 

_"Minhyung! Go lie down on your bed. Right now!"_

He doesn’t remember what happens after that. Maybe he listened to her. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe this isn’t even a real memory. 

It’s always difficult to tell in the Drift. 

“That was your mom?” 

“Yeah,” Mark says, wishing he could close his eyes. Wishing he could stop. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

“Whatever, Lee,” Donghyuck mutters.

“Ah,” Mark says, “so we’re back on a last-name basis. Figures.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t reply, but his irritation washes over the Drift like a stubborn tide. Mark basks in it for a second, as if it’s a lazy day on the beach and all he has to do is wiggle his toes in wispy washes of sea. But then, like the sea, that feeling passes, short-lived and impossible to get back. Donghyuck’s emotions fade out of him, which means that he’s already gone, or half-gone, that they’re off-center, and Mark should probably try and call out for him, but he doesn’t. 

§§•§§ 

_“Recite the psalm, son.”_

The lights in the Church are dim. The windows are long, but it’s raining, so there isn’t much to illuminate the clean beige carpet and the simple wooden pews. Nothing about his Church is special, not even the large cross that hangs above the priest’s pulpit. Nothing about him is special, either. Short, scrawny limbs. A freshly-ironed polo, not so invisible Invisalign, and a splotchy face cursed with hormonal acne.

“ _The Lord is my shepherd,” Mark says clearly, as clearly as a memory can, anyway, “so I shall not want.”_

It’s been so long since he memorized this psalm. He remembers it, still.

_“He makes me lie down in green pastures, and he leads me beside quiet waters.”_

He restores my soul, Mark finishes. 

_“He guides me in the path of righteousness.”_

And even though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death—

_“…I fear no evil for you are with me.”_

The words fall like rain on a tiny Presbyterian church in Vancouver, sweet, gentle rain, the rain of May flowers and Sunday mornings, cleansing and baptizing. Separating from this memory feels like spitting in the direction of the sky and hoping it will spite the clouds. It’s difficult, directionless, utterly impossible. 

So, he holds on to this just a little, even as the Drift closes in on him again, as vicious as a circling vulture. He holds on to the Church and the cross and the distant feeling of pride at having memorized his favorite psalm. He holds onto the sound of a Bible turning, and a digital clock ticking, and his own voice, certain and sure and high-pitched. 

§§•§§ 

In the empty moments between memories, the moments where the Drift is only a hollow shell, an empty cage, Donghyuck’s presence wavers, comes to light, like folding back a dog-ear and reading the words on the creased lines. The connection is there, but it’s half-hidden, and he’s not sure if Donghyuck is pulling away or if he’s the one pushing him. 

The less Donghyuck sees, the better. 

§§•§§ 

Christmases, birthdays. The apartment in Vancouver. Springs. Falls. Summers. Everything collides and merges. Good mornings. Good nights. School and summer and Mom. Jesus. Everything. 

§§•§§ 

_“Is Dad coming?” Mark asks._

_Mom butters the pan. It sizzles. She adds the onions and the kimchi she bought from Hannam Market. “No.”_

_“But you said—”_

_“I know what I said.”_

_He can take a hint, so he turns back to his math homework. After three seconds of staring at special right triangles, he realizes he’s never going to get this, so he asks, “Why, though?”_

_A salty-sour smell fills the room, overpowering the fried kimchi and seared onions and the pot of tea bubbling in the kettle. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, and Mom wipes her hands on her apron. She walks across the kitchen and turns on the air purifier._

_“I thought you said we couldn’t afford that,” Mark mumbles._

_She doesn’t answer either of his questions._

§§•§§   


“Mark?” Donghyuck’s voice is faint. “Where are you?” 

§§•§§   


_“Mom? The tap’s not working.”_

_Mom looks at him. She’s got raccoon eyes again. He wants to tell her that, but she’ll probably get sad and she already looks kind of sad sitting by herself at the kitchen table. There’s a bunch of unopened envelopes on her lap._

_“There’s a water bottle in the fridge.”_

_Mark makes a face at the thought of having to wash his hands with a bottle of Dasani butmoves in the direction of the fridge. He peers inside._

_“Mom, there’s nothing in here.”_

_“Bottom shelf, baby.”_

_“Oh! Okay.”_

_He starts washing his hands in the sink. At least they have soap._

_“So,” he says, scrubbing in between his fingers, “Mr. Bullinger was telling me that the art department’s planning a trip to Seattle. And I was thinking…” He’s scrubbing furiously now. “I was just thinking, maybe as a really, really, really early birthday president, I could… y’know… go?”_

_Mom doesn’t reply._

_“We’re going on the Amtrak, so it’s not super expensive. And the school’s gonna subsidize the tickets by selling chocolate bars! So it’ll only be, like, thirty dollars, maybe?” He turns off the tap. “Well, okay. It’s, like, sort of expensive, but I’ve still got the fifty dollars Dad sent me—I haven’t used it for anything—and I dunno, Mom, the Frye’s got this crazy new mural collection and thirty dollars is worth it to see that—”_

_An odd smell lingers in the air._

_Mark clamps his mouth shut and sniffs._

_Oh._

_It’s not salty-sour anymore._

_He turns around._

_Mom’s head is on the table. Her eyes are closed._

_He walks to his room and grabs his blankets. He goes back to the kitchen and covers her up to her neck, because it’s winter, it’s getting cold, Canada-style cold. If he doesn’t do this, she’ll end up with a fever and he’ll have to miss school to take care of her. But it’s okay. He’s learned from the last time._

_“Night, Mom,” he says in Korean._

_He kisses her cheek, and it feels like touching air. Something tells it’s time to go, to tread back to his room and finish his homework, but there’s an itch in his gut and a tight feeling in the back of his throat, and so he lingers. She never smells good, these days, except for at night, when she’s fast asleep. He nuzzles her cheek for a second, inhaling her scent, and it’s nice, so nice, even if he doesn’t know why he’s doing it._

_He closes his eyes, and he holds onto that smell, holds onto it tight, like he’s on the edge of a cliff and it’s the only thing keeping him from falling. Flowers and linen and paint. Hibiscus and linen and paint remover. He wants to remember._

_He wants to—_

§§•§§   


No. No, no, _no_ —

§§•§§   


_He’s twelve and he’s got his Invisalign on and he’s back from Sunday school. He takes off his shoes and socks and puts his keys underneath the doormat. He’s grinning, still thinking about the psalm, still reciting it in his head. He mouths the words, but changes some of the phrases, remixing them as if he’s writing his own song. And in the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil for you are with me, me, me, Mark Lee, Lee Minhyung. And the Lord is my shepherd and he makes me lie down in green pastures and by still water, and—_

_Actually, water sounds great right about now._

_Still smiling, he heads to the kitchen, already knowing what he’ll find. Or hoping. Before he left to walk a block away to Church, he had made Mom promise she would finally buy some food. Real food, not fast food burgers and fries. He wants kimchi and rice and an egg on top. Water first, though._

_The kitchen is empty, which means Mom is probably sleeping._

_He checks the fridge. There’s nothing there, not even water, and he frowns. Did Mom forget? Really? After all that time he spent nagging her?_

_“Mom!”_

_She doesn’t reply and he has to think about God to stop himself from rolling his eyes._

_It’s okay. It’s fine._

_He’ll just go wake her up and they can catch a bus to Hannam or the new H-Mart. Maybe she’ll even let him get those Panda cookies with the chocolate in the center or pocky or something to make up for all of this._

_Mind made, he plods toward her room. Well, it’s not really a closet, but she remade it and gave Mark the big room. He loves her for it._

_Her door is closed, which is normal._

_He opens it and steps inside carefully. She turned off the lights and the curtains are drawn. It’s afternoon, though, so the sun shines through them, anyway, illuminating her trundle bed and small night-stand. She’s lying on her side, which is kind of weird. She only ever sleeps on her stomach._

_“Mom?”_

_Still no response._

_Tiptoeing, he edges closer to the bed and slides on top. There’s not a lot of space, so he folds himself close to her, trying not to disturb her too much. Her hair is very oily, and her pajamas are wrinkled. It’s okay. He can take care of her. She doesn’t like it when he does that, she says she just needs a bit of time, but what’s wrong with taking care of her? He can do it, he can do it all._

_“Mom? I got back from Sunday school. I did really well on today’s test.”_

_When she doesn’t respond, he sighs and brushes her hair to the side. On a whim, he tries nuzzle her scent glands, directly underneath her ear, to calm him down._

_He frowns._

_“Mom,” he says, a little louder this time. “Mom! Did you take suppressants?”_

_They don’t have money for that. His Invisalign already cost them so much. Besides, she works from home, so she doesn’t need suppressants. Unless… Did she get a new job?_

_“Mom?” Mark asks, a little calmer. “Can you wake up, please?”_

_She doesn’t budge._

_Frustrated, he grabs her shoulder, trying to shake her awake. As soon as he tries moving it, though, her head lolls to the side and he sees her face._

_His blood turns cold._

_Her eyes are wrong. They’re open. Glazed over._

_He jumps out of bed and runs out of the apartment and down the street. He runs and runs and runs until he’s knocking on his neighbor’s door, his breath catching in his throat. The door opens and he falls on his knees. They sting with the force of the impact._

_“Mark?” His math teacher asks him, bewildering. “What are you doing here?”_

_“My mom,” Mark says._

_The world is spinning. He feels like he’s going to throw up._

_“My mom, she’s—”_

_He can’t say._

_“Her eyes, they were—”_

_He can’t—_

_“Hey,” Mr. Bullinger says, holding him, “hey, hey, it’s okay. Tell me what happened.”_

_“She’s,” Mark says finally, choking on the words like he’s drowning. “I think she’s. She's. D-d-dead.”_

§§•§§ 

"Mark? Mark!” 

Hands on his face. Cupping his chin. 

He tilts his head up, but he can’t see the right things. He can’t see the room, the Pod. He sees Mom when she was alive and Captain Kim when he died. He sees the Rift, the South China Sea, the kitchen in Vancouver with its unpaid bills and empty cabinets, he sees death, death in the form of terminal velocity, of a Navi intercepting another. He sees everything good crumbling away from him— 

Mark jerks his body away. 

The hands fall. 

A suffocating tightness builds in his chest. 

He stands up. 

Yuri is saying something. 

He doesn’t care. 

Out of the room. Out of the building. 

The sun is bright. The wind is cold. He takes the steps to the apartment three at a time. He’s banging on the crimson-red door before he can register what he’s doing. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Baekhyun stumbles out, his hair a mess. He’s in his uniform. He smells like beer. 

Mark opens his mouth. 

Nothing comes out.

Hyung grips his shoulders and pulls him in the room. Hyung slams the door shut. Mark falls on the floor. Crumples. 

There are hands in his hair. Hyung’s hands. Mark leans into the touch and closes his eyes. 

Hyung hums. “You saw Taeyong?”

He shakes his head.

“Your mom?”

Mark’s throat closes.

Hyung sighs. Not sighs. It’s a strange sound.

“Minhyung,” he says calmly, “you’re not there anymore.”

I know. I know.

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes. 

Baekhyun’s eyes are clear amber framed in black. He looks strong and weak at the same time. Mark touches his cheeks to make sure he’s not going to disappear. 

“I’m being so stupid,” Mark says hoarsely. 

“Not about this, no.”

“I… I…” He tries really, really hard to find the right words. “I got over this, hyung. I did. With Tae—with…with him.” 

“Not without him, though.”

No. Not without him.

“It’s a lot,” Baekhyun says. “I’m guessing Donghyuck being there didn’t help you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t want him to see, so I—”

“He saw. Probably.”

Mark bites his tongue.

“It’s okay, kid.”

“No. I didn’t. It wasn’t. I wasn’t good enough to—to—I’m still. Hyung.” 

“Deep breaths, Mark. Come on.”

In, out. In, out. The fan is on. The window is open. He counts the number of cracks in Baekhyun’s plaster. He counts the number of flowers on the Monet hanging in the living room. He loses count so he counts again. Baekhyun’s fingers comb through his hair, and it’s a calming pressure. 

“I’m good,” Mark says after a while. 

Baekhyun stands up. He holds out his hand and Mark takes it. 

“You’re young,” Baekhyun says softly, sadly. “It’s okay if you’re not okay.”

Not in war, he thinks. 

He doesn’t say it out loud. 

“Stay the night,” Baekhyun says. “The guest room’s got your name all over it.”

“I can’t. Donghyuck—“

God. _Donghyuck_. 

Baekhyun stuffs his feet in his shoes. “I’ll talk to him.” 

Mark hates how easy it is to accept that offer. “I’m a terrible Mate,” he says, guilt welling inside of him. He’s no better than his own father. “He doesn’t deserve—this. Me.”

Baekhyun stares at him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he says calmly, “and you’re going to take a nap and meet me in the training rooms. You’re going to spend the night here, and tomorrow, you’re going to go back to Donghyuck and tell him something, anything, to explain what happened. Got it?” 

Something about Baekhyun’s voice feels like he’s back in basic training again. It’s like a bucket of water being chucked in his face. He blinks, and then he steadies himself. He’s a soldier and this is his commanding officer.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man.” Baekhyun pushes him toward the living room. “Extra blankets are in the pantry. Don’t ask why. I’m shit at home decor.” 

Mark gets the blankets. He goes to the kitchen and gets sleeping pills, too. 

Then, he climbs in the bed and goes to sleep and he doesn’t dream. 

§§•§§   


The nap helps. The cup of coffee helps. The hours spent that night fighting Baekhyun hyung help the most. 

Baekhyun’s not Lee Donghyuck. He’s not as beautiful when he fights, as golden, he’s not as wrathful or wicked or splendid, but he’s excellent at everything he does and it’s nice not to have to hold back. (Not like there is ever holding back with Donghyuck. There’s only ever wanting more and _more_ and—)

“Pay attention, kid!” 

Mark barely dodges Baekhyun’s kick. He stumbles to the left and hisses when Baekhyun lands on top of him. 

“Told you to pay attention,” Baekhyun says, grinning savagely.

Mark shakes his head, cursing himself, and tries to refocus. 

§§•§§   


He winces when he looks at the mirror. Baekhyun hadn’t taken it easy on him, not at _all_. His face and neck are covered in bruises. He rummages around in the medicine cabinet for topical creams. Grabbing as many as he can, he wraps his towel around his waist next and heads out of the shower, deciding that after he rubs cream all over himself, he’s going to get another cup of coffee. Or maybe some more sleeping pills. 

His plans evaporate the moment he steps into the guest bedroom and smells a whiff of honeysuckle and balmy jasmine.

Donghyuck is sitting on the bed. 

Mark almost drops the creams, holding onto them in the nick of time. His movement alerts Donghyuck, though, because his head flies up and his eyes land on Mark. 

Mark’s breath catches. 

He’s used to looking at Donghyuck. He’s used to seeing him in the corner of his eye, used to watching him move and leap and fight. But he’s not used to _staring_ at Donghyuck, he’s not used to looking at lingering, because that’s weird, it’s so weird and creepy, but this time, in these circumstances, he can’t help it. He looks. 

Donghyuck’s eyes are wide and dark and beautiful. The light from the lamp pools inside of them, and it reminds Mark of the trip to Seattle where he saw a contemporary piece that was just a lake of reflective glass. When the sun shone on that lake, it was lit up from the inside out, until you couldn’t help but think that it was real, that you could sink into it if you tried. Mark wants to—he wants. He doesn’t know what he wants, just that he wants. It’s a dizzying feeling. It leaves him feeling air-outed, like a painting left to dry on a kitchen table. 

“Donghyuck?” Mark says.

Donghyuck’s cheeks are pink. So are his ears. He looks away from Mark and that’s when Mark realizes that he’s technically half-naked. 

“Sorry,” Mark blurts out, “but I wasn’t expecting you to come, so.”

“Yeah, well.” Donghyuck’s studying the bed’s comforter studiously. “Surprise, bitch.”

“Did you just call me a bitch?” Mark asks, incredulous. Despite everything, he almost wants to laugh. Almost. 

“It’s a meme, _God_ ,” Donghyuck insists, but his face turns even pinker. “What are you, eighty?”

It’s easy, this pattern. Mark’s relieved when he finds he can fall into it again, despite everything. 

“You don’t strike me as someone that keeps up with memes,” he says, stepping closer.

He can’t see Donghyuck’s face—it’s tucked away—but it’s not difficult to imagine his glare. “Why? What do I strike you as?”

Mark can’t answer that without giving himself away and he’s already done enough of that. He shrugs his shoulders and the silence that ensues is uncomfortable and thick. 

“Why are you here?” Mark asks finally, because he’s tired and all he wants to do is strip, climb into bed, and pop a few pills to fall asleep. 

“It’s about…” Donghyuck’s voice trails off. He sounds uncharacteristically nervous and Mark has to fight the urge to tug him back onto his lap and soothe him. It’s instinctual, a hard-wired need to protect his own. “… Wait. Are you, um, clothed now?”

“I’ve got a towel.”

“That’s _not_ being clothed, Lee.”

Mark bites the bullet. “I was planning on going to sleep, so no, I don’t plan on changing.”

Donghyuck’s voice is strained. “Are you saying you sleep _naked_?” 

Mark eyes him. “Does it matter if I do?”

“Why would it?” Donghyuck shoots back. 

“I… don’t know?” Mark says, confused. He shakes his head, trying to bring himself back to the present. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here?” 

Donghyuck finally looks up. His cheeks are still pink, which is unusual, but his mouth is tugged into the same exasperated frown Mark’s seen more times than he can count. He’s still so pretty, it almost hurts. 

Staring at a point directly above him, Donghyuck says, “We have to talk about it. The… The stuff I saw today.” 

Mark’s heart clenches. 

He fights the urge to run away. 

“How much did you see?” Mark asks. 

“Some of it. Images. Flashes.” 

“Of what?” 

“A woman, mostly. Your mom. And the stuff about Church and…”

Donghyuck trails off.

Mark doesn’t wait for him to finish his train of thought. 

“It was a heart attack,” he says curtly, feeling a familiar wave of nausea, of guilt, of anger. “She… She had health problems, and she had a heart attack, and she didn’t make it to the phone in time.”

Something odd passes on Donghyuck’s face, something fierce and fleeting, something that makes Mark dizzy, that makes him want to reach over and pull Donghyuck back in his arms and do something terribly, horrifically stupid. 

“What?” Mark says, barely steady.

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me like—” 

Donghyuck keeps looking at him. 

“—forget it. Is that all you wanted to know?” 

That look again, but it’s twisted into something slightly more hostile. 

“Are you trying to kick me out again, Lee?”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Sure. You just let me run away all the time.”

“ _You_ chose that,” Mark says, and this feels familiar, this wash of anger, of frustration, like he’s talking to a brick wall. “You and I both know I could never make you do anything you didn’t want, Lee Donghyuck.” 

Donghyuck scoffs. 

His dark eyes turn darker. Not pools of light, no, more like a rip in the stars, trapping everything inside of them. 

“Do you want _this_?” he asks, gesticulating between himself and Mark, the motion violent.His words are deathly soft, though, as soft as spider-silk. “Us? This partnership? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Lee, but it’s _not_ working, and it’s not because of me.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault,” Mark says slowly. 

“I _felt_ you pushing me out of the Drift,” Donghyuck says, “which is a really shitty thing to do, all things considered. You got to see my unhidden memories in the fake Drift when I was a Trainee. You got to see my worst moments in heat. You always get to see me crying and sniveling and needing your fucking help, but the moment it looks like I get to return the favor, you take that chance away from me.” He’s breathing heavily now, the words tumbling out of his mouth like he’s always wanted to say them, and Mark can’t do anything but listen, entranced. “I hate to fucking break it to you, but if we’re doing this, if we’re in this as a team, then you need to get that stick out of your ass and actually try trusting _me_.” 

“Donghyuck—”

“Shut up.” Donghyuck lurches to his feet. His chest is rising and falling unsteadily, and Mark aches to close the gap between them, to nestle his chin back on Mark’s shoulder. “You’ve been a colossal dick these past few days, and I’m not really in the mood to hear your bullshit anymore.” 

Mark grabs his wrist before he can leave. Donghyuck could easily escape from his grip, but he doesn’t want them to fight, so he doesn’t tighten his grip. He just holds on loosely and prays that it’s enough. Donghyuck’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as if he didn’t expect Mark to do that, and if Mark’s being honest, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing right now, either.

Then again, he never does with Donghyuck. 

“I know,” Mark says, “I know I’m not easy. I get it, but Donghyuck, are you seriously trying to tell me you’re okay with me being in your head?” 

_The stuff that I’ve already seen—your mom leaving, and the broken mirror, and your rage—do you really want me to know all of that? Because I will. I will, if we keep going down this route, Lee Donghyuck, and what I find might not be pretty._

The warring emotions in Donghyuck’s eyes die down until he’s expressionless. Mark could spend a hundred years chipping away at the marble mask of his face and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“You’re so stupid,” Donghyuck says, so softly that the words could be said in a dream and so viciously that they linger in the air like the aftermath of a slap. “So fucking stupid, Lee.” 

“Donghyuck—”

Donghyuck opens the door. “I wish you weren’t in my head,” he says. “I wish I didn’t have to think about you at all, Lee, and I wish this stupid Bond didn’t make me stuck to you.” He pauses, and then he adds, rather delicately, “Just so you know, though: No matter how many times you try to piss me off or push me away, I _will_ pilot the Icarus, so stop trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's very late so i will amend this note later to be more thoughtful, but a few things before i crash and sleep:
> 
> -if you follow me on twitter, you'd know that the last few weeks have been very difficult for me. i've lost family, and it's been quite difficult to write if! or anything else during this time. i'm trying my best, but if there's a decline in quality, it's because i'm still learning how to do regular things again. 
> 
> -ty to everyone who sent comments in aoa or cc. i'll respond to everyone tomorrow, i promise! i'm so behind, but comments are honestly a huge, huge motivation for writing and i always, always read every single one. (also: pls comment on aoa if you can! comments i get on twitter are lovely but i eventually lose them which makes me very sad ;_; )
> 
> -i will amend this point later, but during these difficult, tumultuous times, i hope everyone can show as much support to black lives matter and other human rights organizations as much as possible. (i will add links to useful resources asap) i don't want to preach to anyone, but it's my personal opinion that we have a responsibility to do better. 
> 
> -finally: twitter: crashbang12; cc: crashbang12


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